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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  USSO 

(716)  S72-4S03 


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CIHM/ICMH 

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10X 

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18X 

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26X 

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3 

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16X 


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28X 


32X 


aire 
details 
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^68 


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Bibliothk|ue  IMoriuat 
UnivaraM  d'Ottawa 


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par  le  premier  plat  et  en  termlnant  aolt  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreaaion  ou  d'iliuatration,  aolt  par  le  second 
plat,  aelon  le  cas.  Toua  lea  autrea  exempiairea 
origlnaux  aont  filmia  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreaaion  ou  d'iliuatration  et  en  termlnant  par 
la  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dea  aymboles  suiva.its  apparaftra  eur  la 
derniAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  aelon  le 
caa:  le  aymbole  — ►  algnlfie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
aymbole  V  algnlfie  "FIN". 


ire 


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right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framea  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrama  liluatrate  the 
method: 


Lea  cartes,  planchea,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
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et  de  haut  an  baa,  en  prenant  le  nombro 
d'Imagea  n^ceaaain?.  Lea  diagrammea  aulvanta 
illuatrent  la  m^thode. 


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1 

2 

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5 

6 

THE 


Atithor  of 


B 


VICTORIA; 


V 


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a(i 


OB. 


/?  syy 


THE   HEIRESS   OF   CASTLE    CLIFFE. 


yrZ  C.J     ^r  .-^r^/c       '^u  ci.^       J>/-       ^ 


^y     ^'r^'wc-    ^:^t.<-A 


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•i^ 


.     BY    MRS.    MAY    AGNES    FLEMING, 

AnihoT  of  "The  Dark  Secret;  or.  The  Mystery  of  Fontelle  Hall,"  "An  Awful  Mystery; 
or,  Sybil  Ca/mpbell,  the  Queen  of  the  Isle,'*  etc.,  etc. 


NK-VSr    YORK: 

BEADLE    AND    ADAMS,    PUBLISHERS, 

98    WILLIAM  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870, 

By  Beadle  and  Company,  in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United 

States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


YICTOEIA: 


OR, 


THE    HEIRESS    OF    CASTLE    CLIFFE. 


0, 

of  the  UDitod 


CHAPTER  I. 

AT   THE  THEATRK. 

The  theatre  was  crowded.    The  pit,  reeking 
and  steaming,  wiis  one  swaying  sea  uf  human 
faces.     The  galleries  were  vivid  semi-circles  of 
eyes,  blue,  black,  brown,  and  gray  ;    and  the 
boxes  and  the  upper  tiers  were  rapidly  tilling, 
for  was  not  this  the  bencfik-night  of  Mademoiselle 
Vivia  ?  and  had  not  all  the  tlieatre-going  world 
of  London  been  half  mad  about  Mademoiselle 
Vivia  ever  since   her  first  appearance  on  the 
boards  of  the Theatre  ?    Posters  and  play- 
bills announced  it  her  benefit.     Madam  Rumor 
announced  it  her  last  appearance  on  nny  stage. 
There  were  wonderful  tales  going  about   this 
same  Vivia,  the  actress.     Her  beauty  was  an 
undisputed  fact  by  all ;  so  was  her  marvelous 
talent  in  her  profession  ;  and  her  icy  virtue  was 
a  houseliold   word.    Every  one   in   the   house 
probably  knew  what  was  to  be  known  of  her 
history — ho^  the  manager  of  the  house  stum- 
bled upon  her  accidentally  in  an  obscure,  third- 
rate  Parisian  play-house  ;  how,  struck  by  her 
beauty  and  talent,  he  had  taken  her  away,  had 
her  instructed  for  two  years,  and  how,  at  the  end 
of  that  time,  three  months  previous  to  this  partic- 
ular night,  she  had  made  her  debut,  and  taken  tlie 
good  people  of  London  by  storm.     Gouty  old 
dukes  and  apoplectic  earls  had  knelt  in  dozens 
at  her  feet,   with  offers  of  magnificent  settle- 
ments,   superb    diamonds,   no    end    of   blank 
checks,  carriages,  and  horses,  and  a  splendid  es- 
tablishment, and  been  spurned  for  their  pains. 
Mademoi.'>elIe  Vivia  had  w6n,  during  her  profes- 
sional career,  something  more  than  admiration 
and  love — the  respect  of  all,  young  and   old. 
And  yet  that  same  gossiping  lady.  Madam  Ru- 
mor, whispered  low,  that  the  actress  had  man- 
aged to  lose  her  heart  after  all.    Madam  Rumor 
softly  insinuated,  that  a  yo'ing  nobleman,  mar- 
velously    beautiful  to  look  upon,   and   marvel- 
looBly  'rich   to   back    it,   had    laid  his    heart, 
hasd.  and  name  most  honorably  and  romantio- 


ally  at  her  fair  feet  ;  but  people  took  the  whis- 
per for  what  ft  wad  worth,  and  were  a  little  du- 
bious about  believing  it  implicitly.  No  one  was 
certain  of  anything  ;  and  yet  thi)  knowing  ones 
raised  their  glasses  with  a  peculiar  smile  to  as- 
certnin  the  stage-box  occupied  by  three  young 
men,  and  with  an  inward  conviction  that  the  se- 
cret lay  there.  One  of  the  three  gentlemen  sit- 
ting in  it— a  large,  well-made,  good-looking 
personage  of  thirty  or  so — was  sweeping  the 
house  himseh,  lorgnette  in  hand,  bowing,  and 
smiling,  and  criticising. 

"  And  there  comes  that  old  ogre,  the  Marquia 
of  Devon,  rouged  to  the  eyes  ;  and  that  stiflF  an- 
tediluvian on  his  arm,  all  pearl  powder  and 
pearls,  false  ringlets  and  more  rouge,  is  iiis  sis- 
ter. There  goes  that  oily  little  cheat,  Sylvester 
Sweet,  among  the  swells,  as  large  as  life  ;  and 
there's  Miss  Blanche  Chester  with  her  father. 
Pretty  little  thing,  isn't  she  Lisle?" 

The  person  thus  addressed— -a  very  tall,  very 
thin,  very  pale,  and  veiy  insipid-looking  young 
person,  most  stylislsly  got  up,  regardless  of  ex- 
pense, leaned  forward,  and  stared  out  of  a  pair 
of  very  dull  and  very  expressionless  gray  eyes, 
at  an  exceedingly  pretty  and  graceful  girl. 

"  Aw,  yes !  Very  pretty  indeed  !"  he  lisped, 
with  a  languid  drawl ;  "  and  has  more  money, 
they  say,  than  she  knows  what  to  do  with. 
Splendid  catch,  eh  ?  But  look  there.  "Who  are 
those?    By  Jove  1  what  a  handsome  woman!" 

The  attention  of  Lord  Lisle — for  the  owner  of 
the  dull  eyes  and  lantern  jaws  was  that  distin- 
guished gentleman — had  been  drawn  to  a  party 
who  had  just  entered  the  box  opposite.  They 
were  two  ladies,  three  gentlemen,  and  a  little 
child,  and  Sir  Roland  Clilfe.  The  first  speaker 
leaning  over  to  see,  opened  his  eyes  very  wide, 
with  a  low  whistle  of  astonishment. 

"Such  a  lovely  face!  Such  a  noble  bead! 
Such  a  grand  air !"  raved  young  Lord  Lisle, 
whose  heart  was  as  inflammable  as  a  luciflBr- 
match,  and  caught  fire  as  easily. 


CI 

n 


UNMASKED:  OR 


» 


Sir  Roland  raised  his  shoulders  and  eyebrows 
togctlier,  and  strokud  hie  flowing  benrd. 

"  Which  one  5"'  he  coolly  aeked.  Belle  blonde, 
or  jolie  brurettet" 

Tlie  lady  in  pink  satin  and  diamonds !  Such 
splendid  eyes  '  Such  a  manner !  Such  grace  ! 
She  might  be  a  princesei !" 

Hearing  this,  the  third  occupant  of  the  box 
leaned  furwiud  also,  from  the  Inzy  recumbent 
position  he  hud  hitherto  indulged  in,  and  glanc- 
ed across  tlie  way.  lie  looked  the  younger  of 
the  two — slender  and  boyish — and  evidently  not 
more  than  nineteen  or  twenty,  wearing  the  un- 
dress uniform  of  a  lieutenant  of  dragoons,  wliich 
eet'off  liis  eminently-handsome  face  and  figure  to 
the  best  possible  advantage,  lie,  too,  opened 
bis  large  blue  Saxon  eyes  slightly,  as  they  rest- 
ed on  the  objects  of  Lord  Lisle's  raptures,  and 
exchanged  a  smile  with  Sir  lloland  Cliffe. 

The  latly  thus  unconsciously  apostrophized  and 
stared  at  was  lying  back  in  her  cliair,  and  fan- 
ning herself  very  much  at  her  ease.  It  was  a 
blonde  face  of  the  purest  type  ;  the  skin,  satin- 
smooth  and  white;  the  blue  veins  scarcely  trace- 
able under  the  milk-white  surface ;  the  oval 
cheeks  tinged  with  the  faintest  shade  of  rose, 
deepening  into  vividness  in  the  thin  lips.  The 
eyes  were  large,  blue,  and  bright — very  coldly- 
|>right  though ;  the  eyebrows,  light  and  indis- 
"tincl ;  and  the  hair,  which  was  of  a  flaxen  fair- 
Aess,  was  rolled  back  from  the  beautiful  face,  a 
la  Marie  Stuart.  Light  hair,  fair  blue  eyes,  an  ' 
colorless  complexion  usually  make  up  rather  ai 
insipid  style  of  prettiness ;  but  this  lady  wa.s 
not  at  all  insipid.  The  eyes,  placed  close  to- 
gether, had  a  look  of  piercing  intentness ;  the 
thin  lips,  decidedly  compressed,  had  an  air  of 
resolute  determination  ;  and  from  the  crown  of 
her  flaxen  head  to  the  sole  of  her  sandaled  foot, 
she  looked  as  high  and  haughty  as  any  lady  in 
the  land.  Her  dress  was  pale  rose  satin,  with  a 
profusion  of  rare  ol(J  point,  yellow  as  saffron 
with  age,  and  precious  as  rubies.  Diamonds 
ran  like  a  river  of  light  round  the  beautiful 
arched  neck,  and  blazed  on  the  large,  snow- 
white,  rounded  arms.  Her  fan  was  of  gold  and 
ebony,  and  marabout  feathers  ;  and  she  man- 
aged it  with  a  hand  like  Helic'sown.  One  dain- 
ty foot,  peeping  out  from  under  the  rosy  skirt, 
showed  tlie  nrched  instep,  tapering  ankle,  and 
rounded  flexibility,  of  the  same  type  ;  and,  to 
her  finger's  tips,  she  looked  the  lady.  Her  age 
it  was  impossible  to  guess,  for  old  Time  deal» 
gallantly  with  those  flaxen-haired,  pearly-skin- 
ned beauties,  and  Lord  Lisle  could  not  have  told, 
for  his  life,  wliether  to  set  her  down  as  twenty 
or  thirty.  She  certainly  did  not  look  demoi- 
selle ;  and  her  figure,  though  tall,  and  slight, 
and  delicate,  was  unmistakably  matured  ;  and 
then  her  style  of  dress,  and  the  brilliant  opera- 
cloak  of  scarlet  and  White,  slipping  off  her 
shoulders,  was  matured,  too.  She  and  Her  com- 
panion formed  as  striking  a  contrast  as  could  be 


met  with  in  the  honse.  For  the  latter  wia  n 
prononc^e  brunette,  and  a  very  full-blown  bru- 
nette at  that,  with  lazy,  rolling  black  eyes  ;  n 
profusion  of  dead-bla^jk  hair,  worn  in  braids  and 
bandeaux,  and  entwined  with  pearls  :  her  large 
and  showy  person  was  arrayed  in  "light  mourn- 
ing ;  but  her  handsome,  rounded,  high-colored 
face  was  breaking  into  smiles  every  other  in- 
stant, as  her  lazy  eyes  strayed  from  face  to  face, 
as  Lhe  bent  to  greet  her  friends.  A  lovely  little 
boy,  of  Borne  .«ix  years,  richly  dressed,  with  long 
golden  curls  falling  over  his  shonldcis,  and 
splendid  dark  eyes  straying  likii  her  own  around 
tlie  house,  leaned  lightly  against  her  knee.  They 
were  mother  and  son,  though  they  looked"  little 
like  it ;  and  Mrs.  Leicester  Cliffe  was  a  buxom 
widow  of  five-and-twenty.  The  black  roving 
eyes  rested  at.  last  on  the  opposite  box,  and  the 
incessant  smile  came  over  the  Dutch  face,  as 
she  bowed  to  one  of  the  gentlemen — Sir  Roland 
Cliffe. 

"How  grandly  she  sits! — how  beautiful  she 
is !"  broke  out  Lord  Lisle,  in  a  fiesh  ecstasy. 
"  Who  in  the  world  is  she.  Sir  Roland  ?" 

"  You  had  better  ask  my  beloved  nephew 
here,"  said  Sir  Roland,  with  a  careless  motion 
toward  the  young;  officer ;  "  and  ask  him  at  the 
same  time,  how  he  would  like  you  for  a  step*- 
father." 

Lord  Lisle  stared  from  one  to  the  other,  av.d 
"-Mn  at  the  fair  lady,  aghast. 

V»  by — how — you  don't  mean  to  say  that  it 
•xdj/  Agnes  Shirley  I" 

■'  But  I  do,  though  I  Is  it  possible.  Lisle, 
that  yon,  a  native  of  Sussex  yourself,  have 
never  seen  my  sister  ?" 

"I  never  have!"  exclaimed  Lord  Lisle,  with 
a  look  of  hopeless  amazement ;  "  and  that  is 
really  your  mother,  Shirley  ?" 

The  Lieutenant  of  dragoons,  who  was  sitting 
in  such  a  position  that  the  curtain  screened 
him  completely  from  the  audience,  while  it 
commanded  a  full  view  of  the  stage,  nodded 
with  a  half  laugh,  and  Lord  Lisle's  astonished 
bewilderment  was  a  sight  to  see. 

"  But  she  is  so  young  ;  she  does  not  look 
over  twenty." 

"  She  is  eight  years  oMer  than  I,  and  I  am 
verging  on  thirty,"  said  Sir  Roland,  taking  out 
a  penknife  and  beginning  to  pare  his  nails ; 
"  but  those  blonufcS  never  grow  old.  What  do 
you  think  of  the  black  beauty  beside  her?" 

"  She  is  fat !"  said  Lord  Lisle,  with  gravity. 

"My  dear  fellow,  don't  apply  that  terra  to  a 
lady;  say  plump,  or  inclined  to  embonpoint! 
She  is  rather  of  the  Dutch  make,  I  confess, 
but  we  can  pardon  that  in  a  widow,  and  you 
must  own  she's  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  Low 
Country,  Flemish  style  of  loveliness.  Paul 
Rubens,  for  instance,  would  have  gone  mad 
ubout  her ;  perhaps  you  have  never  noticed, 
though,  as  you  do  not  much  affect  the  fine 
arts,  that  all  his  Madonnas  and  Yenuses  have 


\ 

tter  wta  n 
ilown  bru- 
ik  eyes ;  ji 
braids  and 

her  large 
lit  raourn- 
gh- colored 

other  in- 
»ce  to  face, 
ovely  little 

with  long 
Idcrs,  and 
wn  around 
nee.  They 
oked'  little 

a  buxom 
ick  roving 
K,  and  the 
\h  fnce,  as 
iiv  Roland 

utiful  she 
ih  ecstasy. 
1?" 

i  nephew 
!B8  naotion 
lim  at  the 
}r  a  Btep»- 

3th  er,  av,d 

lay  that  it 

de,  Lisle, 
lelf,  have 

jisle,  with 
d   tirnt  is 

'as  sitting 

screened 

while   it 

I,  nodded 

stonished 

not  look 

and  I  am 
ikiug  out 
lis  nails ; 

What  do 
er?" 

gravity, 
terra  to  a 
bonpoint ! 

confess, 
and  you 

the  Low 
8.  Paul 
>ne   mad 

noticed, 
the  fine 
aes  have 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


the  same  plontitul  supply  of  blood,  and  brawn, 
and  muscle,  that  our  fair  rclalivo  yonder  rc- 
ioices  in." 

"  She  is  your  relative,  then  ?" 
1  "  Leicester  ClitFe,  rest  his  soul  f  was  my  cou- 
sin. That  is  lier  son  and  heir,  that  little 
shaver  beside  her — tino  little  follow,  isn't  he  V 
and  a  Cliffe,  every  inch  of  him.  What  arc  you 
thinking  of,  ClifTo?" 

"  Were  you  speaking  to  mo?"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant, looking  up,  uhstrttctedly. 

"  Yes.  I  want  to.  Ujxow  wiial  makes  you  so 
insufFerably  stupid  tonight?  What  are  you 
tliiirking  of  mnn — Vivia?" 

The  remark  might  be  nearer  the  truth  than 
the  speaker  lliouglit,  for  a  slight  flush  rose  to 
the  girl-like  cheek  of  Lieutenant  Ciitfo  Slijrloy. 

*'  Nonsense  !  I  was  half  nslecp,  1  believe. 
I  wish  the  curtain  was  up,  and  the  play  well 
over.' 

"  I  have  heard  that  this  is  Vivia's  last  night," 
remarked  Lord  Lisle  ;  "  and  that  she  is  about 
to  be  married,  or  something  of  that  sort.  How 
is  it,  Sir  lioland  ?  as  you  know  everything,  you 
must  know." 

"  I  don't  know  that,  at  all  events  ;  but  he  is  a 
lucky   man,  whoever  gets   her.      Ah!  wiiat  a 

})retty  little  thing  it  is  I  By  Jove  I  I  never  see 
ler  without  feeling  inclined  to  go  on  my  knees, 
and,  snj —  Ah !  Sweet,  old  fellow,  how  ore 
you  ?" 

This  last  passage  in  the  noble  baronet's  dis- 
course was  not  what  he  would  say  to  Mdlle.  Vi- 
via, but  was  addressed  to  a  gentleman  who  had 
forced  his  way,  with  some  difficulty,  throui^h 
the  crowd,  nnd  now  stood  at  the  door,  lie 
was  not  a  handsome  man,  was  Mr.  Sweet,  but 
lie  had  the  most  smiling  and  beaming  expres- 
sion of  countenance  imaginable.  He  was  of 
medium  size,  inchned  to  lie  angular  and  sharp 
at  the  joints,  with  a  complexion  so  yellow  as 
to  induce  the  belief  that  ho  was  suffering  from 
chronic  and  continual  jaundice.  His  hair,  what 
was  of  it,  was  much  the  color  of  his  face,  but 
he  iiad  nothing  in  that  line  worth  speaking  of; 
his  eyes  were  small  and  twinkling,  and  general- 
ly half  closed ;  and  he  displayed,  like  the 
blooming  relic  of  the  late  lamented  Leicester 
Cliffe,  the  sweetest  and  most  ceaseless  of  smiles. 
His  waistcoat  was  of  a  bright  cannry  tint,  much 
the  color  of  his  face  nnd  hair ;  lemon-colored 
gloves  were  on  his  hands  ;  and  the  yellow  neck- 
tie stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  whitest 
and  glossiest  of  shirt  collars.  He  wore  large 
gold  studs,  and  a  large  gold  breast-pin,  a  large 
gold  watch-chain,  with  an  anchor,  and  a  heart, 
and  a  bunch  of  seals,  and  a  select  assortment 
of  similar  small  articles  of  jewelry  drngling 
from  it,  and  keeping  up  a  musical  tinkle  as  he 
walked.  He  had  small  gold  ear-rings  in  his 
ears,  nnd  would  have  had  them  in  his  nose,  too, 
doubtless,  if  any  one  had  been  good  enough  to 
set  him   a   precedent.    As  it  was,  he  was  so 


bright,  and  so  smiling,  and  so  glistening,  with 
Ills  yellow  hair,  and  face,  and  waistcoat,  and 
neck-tie,  and  jewelry,  that  ho  fairy  soentillaccd 
all  over,  and  would  have  made  yo*i  wink  to  look 
ut  him  by  gaslight. 

"  Hallo,  Sweet!     How  do.  Sweet?    Come  in, 
Sweet,"  greeted  this   sniiling   vision  from    the 
three  young  men.    And  Mr.  Sweet,  beaming  nil 
over   with    smiles,  nnd  jingling    his  seals,   did 
come  in,  and  took  a  s  at  lietwcen  the  haiulsomu 
young  Lieutenant  and  his  uncle.  Sir  Roland. 
The  orchestra  was  crashing  out  a  tremendous 
overture,  but  at  this  moment  a  bell   tinkled, 
and  when  it  ceased,  the  oui  tain  shriveled  u|)  to 
the  ceiling,  nnd  disclosed  "  Henry  VIH.",  a  very 
Hlout  gentleman,  in  flt-sh-culored  tights,  scarlet 
velvet  doublet,  profusely  ornamented   with  IIm- 
scl  and  gold  lace,  wearing  a  superb  crown  of 
|i>  ste-board  and  gilt  paper  on    his  royal  head. 
Oiitherino,   of   Arragun,   was   there,  too,   very 
^M'and,  in  a  long  trailing  dress  of  purple  cot- 
ton and  velvet,  and  blazing  ail  over  with  bril- 
liants of  the  purest  glass,  kneeling  before  her 
royal   husband,  amidst  a    brilliant  assembly  of 
gentlemen  in  tights  and  mustaches,  and  lalirs 
in  very  long  dresses  and  paste  jewels,  in  the  act 
of  receiving  a  similar  paste-board  crown  from 
the  fat  hands  of  i  he  king  himself.      The  pla}'  w  as 
the  "  Royal  Biue-lJeard",  a  sort  of  half  musi- 
cal, half-danceabie  burlesque,  and  though  tlie 
andieice  laughed  a  good  deal,  and  applauded  a 
little   over  the  first  act,  their  enthusiasm  did 
not  quite  bring  the  roof  down;   for  Vivia  was 
not  there.    Her  role  was  "  Anne  Bolej'n",  a'ad 
when  in  the  second  act  that  beautiful  and  m«iat 
unfortunate  lady  appeared  among  the  maids  of 
honor,  "  which  meaneth",  says  an  ancient  writ- 
er, "  anything  but  honoraljle  maids",  to  win  the 
fickle-hearted  monarch  by  her  smiles,  a  ch^er 
greeted  her  that  made  the  house  ring.     She  was 
their  pet,  their  favorite ;  and  standing  among 
her  painted  companions,  all  tinseled  and  span- 
gled, she  looked  queen-rose,  and  star  over  all. 
i^etite  and  fairy-like  in  figure,  a  clear  colorless 
complexion,  lips  vividly  red,  eyes  jetty  black 
and  bright  as  stars,  shining  black  liair,  falling 
in  a  profusion  of  curls  and  waves  far  below  her 
waist,  and  with  a  smile  like  an  angel !    She  was 
dressed  all  in   white,  with  flowers  in  her  hair 
and  on  her  breast ;  and  when  she  came  floating 
across  the  stage  in  her  white   mist-like  robes, 
her   pure    pale   face,   uplifted   dark  eyes,  and 
tvaving  hair,  crowned  with  water-lilies,  she  look- 
ed more  like  a  fairy  b}'   moonlight  than  a  mere 
creature  of  flesh  and  blood.     What  a  sliout  it 
was  that  greeted  her !  how  gentle  and   sweet 
was  the  smile  that  answered  it!  and   how  ce- 
lestial she  looked  with  that  smile  on  her   I  [s, 
Sir  Roland  leaned  over  with  flashing  eyes. 

"It  is  a  fairy;  it  is  Titania!  It  is  V»niis 
herself!"  he  cried,  enraptured.  "  1  never  saw 
her  look  so  benntifnl  before  in  mv  life." 

Lord  Lisle  pt.uvd  ,it  him  in   his  duil,  vnc:ir.t 


c 

fM 


rNMASKED ;  OR, 


way  ;  and  Mr.  Sweet  smiled,  and  stole  n  sldcloni; 
glanoel  at  the  Jjeutoimnt,  whiolt  nouoliuliint 
yonng  warrior  lounged  easily  back  on  his  scat, 
;in<l  watched  the  silver-ehining  viaiou  with 
|iliilo8uphical  composure. 

The  play  went  on.  The  lovely  Anne  wins 
tiie  sliglitly-fickle  King  with  her  "  bocks,  and 
nods,  mid  wreathed  smiles",  and  triiunpha  over 
tite  unfortunate  lady  iu  the  purple  train.  Then 
oomes  her  own  brief  ana  dazzling  terra  of 
glory  ;  then  blue-eyed  Jane  Seymour  conquers 
the  conquercsB,  ana  Mistress  Anne  is  condemned 
to  die.  Throughout  the  whole  thing,  Vivia  was 
superb.  Vivia  always  was ;  l>ut  in  the  hist 
scene  of  all  she  surpassed  herself.  From  the 
moment  when  she  told  the  exeoutiont-r,  with  a 
gny  liiiiHli,  that  she  beard  be  was  expert,  and 
she  lia<l  but  a  suiall  neck,  to  the  moment  she 
was  lud  forth  to  die,  slie  held  the  audience 
spellbound.  When  the  curtain  rose  in  the  laat 
scene,  the  stage  was  hxivg  in  black,  the  lights 
burned  dim,  the  music  waxed  faint  and  Tow, 
and,  dnssed  in  deepest  mourning,  and  looking 
by  contrast  deadly  pale,  she  laid  her  beautiful 
head  on  the  block.  At  the  sound  of  the  falling 
axe,  as  the  curtain  fell,  a  thrill  ran  through 
every  heart;  and  the  four  gentlemen  in  the 
stage-box  bent  over  and  gazed  with  their  hearts 
— such  n-i  tliey  were — in  their  eyes.  A  moment 
of  profoundest  silence  was  followed  by  so  wild 
a  tempest  of  applause  that  the  domed  root  rtuig, 
and  ''Vivia!"  "Vivial"'  shouted  a  storm  of 
voices,  cntliusiastically.  Once  again  she  came 
before  them,  pale  and  beautiful  in  her  black 
robes  and  flowing  hair,  and  bowed  her  acknowl- 
edgments with  the  same  lovely  smile  that  had 
won  ull  llieir  hearts  long  before.  A  small  iiva- 
lancue  of  bouquets  and  wreaths  came  fluttering 
down  on  the  st.ige,  and  three  of  tlie  occupants 
of  tne  8t;»ge-box  iiung  tlieir  offerings  too.  A 
wreath  of  white  roses,  clasped  by  a  great  pearl, 
from  Sir  lloinnd  ;  a  bouquet  of  splendid  hot- 
house exotics  from  Lord  Lisle  ;  and  a  cluster  of 
jasmine  flowers  from  Lieutenant  Shirley,  which 
he  took  from  his  buttonliole  for  the  purpose. 
Mr.  Sweet  had  nothing  to  cast  but  his  eyes  ;  and 
casting  those  optics  on  the  actress,  he  saw  her 
turn  her  beauLifnl  face  for  one  instant  toward 
their  box  ;  the  next,  lift  tiie  jasmine  flowers  and 
raise  them  to  her  lips,  and  the  next — vanish. 

"  She  took  your  flowers,  Shirley — she  actual- 
ly did,"  cried  Lord  Lisle,  with  one  of  his  blsirnk 
stares,  "  and  left  mine,  that  were  a  thousand 
limes  prettier,  just  where  they  fell!" 

"  Very  extraordinary,"  remai-ked  Mr.  Sweet, 
with  one  of  his  bright  smiles  and  sidehnig 
glances.  "  But  what  do  all  the  good  folks  mean 
hy  leaviui^  ?  I  thought  there  was  to  be  a  farce, 
or  ba  let,  or  something." 

"  S»»  there  is ;  but  as  they  won't  see  VIvia, 
tiiey  don't  care  for  stayinsr.  And  I  think  the 
Iw'st  thing  we  can  do  is,  to  follow  their  example. 
What  do  you  say  to  coiniug  along  with  us, 


Sweet?    We  are  going  to  hnve  a  small  supper 
at  my  rooms  this  evening." 

Mr.  Sweet,  with  many  smiles,  made  his  ac- 
knowledgements, and  accepted  at  once ;  and 
rising,  the  four  passed  out,  and  were  borne 
along  by  the  crowd  into  the  open  oir.  Sir  Ro- 
land's night-cab  was  in  waiting,  and  being 
joined  by  three  or  four  other  young  men,  they 
were  soon  dashing  at  breakneck  speed  toward 
a  West  End  hotel. 

No  man  in  all  London  ever  gave  such  petite 
aoupers  as  Sir  Roland  CfifTe,  and  no  one  ever 
thought  of  declining  his  invitations.  On  the 
present  occasion,  the  hilarity  waxed  fast  and 
furious.  The  supper  was  a  perfect  chefd'auvre, 
the  claret  deliciously  cool  after  the  hot  theatre  ; 
the  sherry,  like  liquid  gold,  and  the  port,  fifty 
years  old  at  least.  All  showed  their  apprecia- 
tion of  it,  too,  by  draining  buiuper  after  bum- 
per, until  the  lights  of  the  room,  and  every- 
thing in  it,  were  dancing  hornpipes  before  their 
eyes — all  but  Mr.  Sweet  and  Lieutenant  Shir- 
ley. Mr.  Sweet  drank  sparingly,  and  had  a 
smile  and  an  answer  for  everybody ;  and  the 
Lieutenant  scarcely  nte  cr  drank  at  all,  and  was 
abstracted,  and  silent. 

"  Do  look  at  Shirley !"  hiccoughed  Lord 
Lisle,  whose  eyes  were  starting  fishily  out  OT 
his  head,  and  whose  hair  and  shirt-front  were 
splashed  with  wine  ;  "  he  looks  as  sol — ^jes — 
as  solemn  as  a  coffin  I" 

"  Hallo,  Cliffe,  my  boy !  don't  be  the  death's- 
head  at  the  feast !  Here !"  shouted  Sir  Roland, 
with  flushed  face,  waving  his  glass  over  his 
head — "  hero,  lads,  is  a  bumper  to  Vivia  I" 

"Vivia!"  "Vivia!"  ran  from  lip  to  lip. 
Even  Mr.  Sweet  rose  to  honor  the  toast ;  but 
Lieutenant  Shirley,  with  wrinkled  brqws  and 
liasiiing  eyes,  sat  still,  and  glanced  round  at  the 
servant  who  stood  ot  his  elbow  with  a  salver 
and  a  letter  thereon. 

'•  Note  for  you,  Lieutenant,"  insinuated  the 
waiter.  "  A  little  boy  brought  it  here.  Said 
there  was  no  answer  expected,  ond  lef ." 

"  I  say,  Cliffe,  what  have  you  there  ?  A 
dun  ?"  shouted  iinpetu>ii8  Sir  Roland. 

"With  your  perini.-sioii  I  will  see,"  rather 
coldly  respo'ided  tue  young  officer,  breaking  the 
seal 

Mr.  Sweet,  sitting  opposite,  kept  his  eyes  in- 
tently fixed  on  liis  face,  and  saw  it  first  flush 
scarlet,  and  then  turn  deathly  white. 

"That's  no  dun,  I'll  swear,"  again  lisped 
Lord  Lisle.  "  Look  at  the  writing !  A  fairy 
could  scarcely  trace  anything  so  light.  And 
look  at  the  paper — pink-tinted  and  gilt-edgeJ. 
The  fellow  has  got  a  billet-doux .'" 

"  Who  IS  she,  Shirley  ?"  called  half  a  dozen 
voices. 

"But  Lieutenant  Shirley  crumpled  the  note 
in  his  hand,  and  rose  abruptly  from  the  table. 

"  Qentlemen  -  Sir  Roland,  you  will  have  the 


good nets 
beiii<^  obli( 
He  had 
appeared 
ered  their 
him  back, 
about  him 
wise  in  his 
tenant  Shi 
and  eye  fl 
to  be  trifle 
and  then 
ll«3  would 
had  about 
and  walket 
dimly  lit 
have  jump 
Shirley  ha 
the  still  st 
hotel  in  a 
ti^ure—afi 
ml   close 
trinoe,  sh 
0  till  morn 
S'lirley  ha 
sistad  her 
tu>)  next, 
speed,  witi 


A.    bron 

throtigli  «'■ 
pet,  on  r 
easy-chair 
hright  wi 
st'iuding  I 
lor.  The 
eoT.-e,   an 

cold    toug 

one  w;is  it 
white  jaci 
and  tongi 
tvo  chain 
parture. 
and  a  lad 
pioud  au'i 
back  from 
the  pretti 
black  lac 
casiunere 
lar  and  a 
luaiia:^  d 
aiil  hauij 
lig  it  blue 
resteil  on 
the  w  lite 

'•  Has 
a  voice  ^ 
and  cold, 
"  No,  t 
"You 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


all  snpper 

de  his  ao- 
)noe ;  nnJ 
ere  borno 
.  Sir  Ro- 
ind  beiiit; 
men,  tliey 
led  toward 


such  petite 

one  ever 

On   tlie 

fast   and 

e/d^auvre, 

't  theatre  ; 

port,  fifty 

oppreoia- 

fter  biim- 

nd  cvery- 

efore  their 

aant  Siiir- 

nd   hnd   a 

;  and  the 

1,  and  was 

led  Lord 
ily  out  oY 
ront  were 
ol — yea — 

le  death's- 
ir  Roland, 

over  his 
via !" 
p  to  lip. 
toast ;  but 
rqws  and 
ind  at  the 

a  salver 

lated  the 
^re.     Said 

'■  " 

iiere  ?     A 

:,"  rnther 
aking  the 

8  eyes  in- 
irst  flush 

in   lisped 

A  fairy 

ht.     And 

dt-edged. 

'  a  dozea 

the  note 
e  table, 
have  the 


goodncH    to  exouae   me  I     I  regret  extremely 
beiir^  obliged  to  leave  you.     Good -night !" 

He  had  strode  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  dis- 
appeared befor  any  f  the  company  had  recov- 
ered their  maudlin  senses  sufficiently  to  call 
him  buck.  Mr.  Sweet  always  had  hia  senses 
iibout  him;  but  that  shining  gentleman  was 
wise  in  his  ironeration,  and  he  kne^v  when  Lieu- 
tenant Shirley's  cheek  paled,  and  brow  knitted, 
and  eye  flashed,  he  was  not  exactly  the  person 
to  be  trilled  with ;  so  ho  only  looked  after  him, 
and  then  nt  his  wine,  with  a  thoiii^htfal  stnile. 
lid  would  have  given  all  the  spare  change  he 
had  abont  him  to  have  donned  an  invisible  ca|), 
and  walked  after  him  throui^h  the  silent  streets, 
dimly  lit  by  the  raw  coming  moral tii^,  and  to 
have  jumped  after  him  into  the  cub  Lieut  -nant 
Shirley  hailed  and  entered.  On  he  flow  through 
the  still  streets,  stopping  at  lai^t  before  a  quiet 
hotel  in  a  retired  part  of  the  city.  A  mutfliid 
ti^ure— a  female  figure— wrapi)ed  in  a  longoloak, 
III  1  closely  vuiled,  st.ood  near  the  l.-idies'  en- 
tt'inoe,  shivering  under  her  wrappings  in  tlie 
0  till  morning  blast.  In  one  instant,  Lioufenant 
S'lirley  had  sprang  out;  in  another,  he  had  as- 
sisted her  in,  and  taker  the  reins  himself;  and 
wi-i  next,  he  was  riding  away  with  breakneck 
speed,  with  his  face  to  the  rising  sun. 

CHAPTER  ir. 

MOTHER  AND  SON. 

A  broad  moivrmg  stinbeara,  stealing  in 
tlirougli  natln  c'.iri.aiiis,  fell  on  a  Bi'ushoIs  c  ir- 
put,  on  rosewood  furniture,  pretty  pictures, 
easy-chairs  and  ottomans,  and  on  a  ronnd-table, 
bright  with  damask,  and  silver,  anl  china, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  handsom'i  par- 
lor. Tlie  table  was  set  for-  breakfast,  and  the 
eo,r;e,  and  the  rolls,  and  the  toast,  anil  the 
cold  tongue,  were  ready  and  waiting  ;  but  no 
one  was  in  the  room,  sive  a  siiruoe  waiter,  in  a 
white  jacket  and  apro  i,  wlio  arranged  the  eggs, 
and  tongue,  an<l  toast  artistically,  and  sot  up 
tvo  chairs  vis-h-ois,  previous  to  taking  his  de- 
parture. As  he  turned  to  go,  the  door  opened, 
and  a  lady  entered— a  lady  tall  and  graceful, 
pt'oud  and  handsome,  witii  her  fair  hair  combed 
back  from  her  liigh  bred  fice,  and  a<lorneil  with 
the  prettiest  little  trifle  of  a  raoining-cap,  all 
black  lace  and  ribbons.  She  wore  a  white 
casiimere  morning-dress,  with  a  little  lace  col- 
lar and  a  ruby  brooch,  nnd  Lady  Agnes  Shirley 
niaiiag  d  to  look  in  this  simple  toilet  as  stately 
anl  haughty  as  a  dowager-tliiehess.  Her  large 
lig  it  blue  eyes  wandered  round  uhe  room,  anil 
rested  on  the  obsequious  young  gentleman  in 
the  w  lite  jacket  and  apron. 

"  Has  my  son  not  arrived  yet  ?"  she  said,  in 
a  voice  that  precisely  suitea  her  face— Bweet 
and  cold,  and  clear. 

"  No,  ray  lady  ;  shall  I—" 

"  You   will  go  down   stairs  ;   and   when    he 


oomea,  yoa  will  aak  him  to  atep  up  here  di- 
rectly.''^ 

There  was  a  auiok,  decided  rap  at  the  door. 
Agnes  turned  from  the  window,  to  which  she 
had  walked,  oa  th«  waiter  opened  it,  and  ad- 
mitted Lii'Utenaut  Cliffe  Shirley. 

"My  dcareat  mother  1" 

•'My  dear  boy  1 '  And  the  proud,  cold  eyea 
lit  up  with  loving  pride  as  he  kissed  her.  "  I 
thought  I  was  never  Jestined  to  see  you  again." 

"Xet  me  see.  It  is  just  two  months  amce  I 
left  Cliftonlea  —  a  frightful  length  of  time, 
truly." 

"  My  dear  ClifTe,  those  two  months  were  like 
two  years  to  me !" 

Lieutenant  ClifTe,  standing  hat  in  hand,  with 
the  morning  sunshine  fulling  on  hia  laughing 
face,  made  her  a  courtly  bow. 

"  Ten  thousand  thanks  for  the  compliment, 
mother  mine.  And  was  it  to  hunt  up  your 
so  ipegraoe  son,  that  you  journeyed  all  the  way 
to  London  ?" 

"  Yes !"  She  said  it  so  gravely,  that  the 
smile  died  away  on  his  lips,  as  she  moved  in 
her  graceful  way  across  the  table.  "  Have  yon 
had  brert  •'fast  ?  But  of  course  you  have  not ;  so 
sit  down  there,  and  I  will  pour  out  your  coffee 
as  if  you  were  at  home." 

The  young  man  sat  down  opposite  her,  took 
his  nankin  frooi  its  ring,  aid  npread  it  with 
most  uelioate  precision  on  his  knees.  There 
was  a  resemblance  between  mother  and  son, 
though  by  no  means  a  striking  one.  They  had 
the  same  blonde  hair,  large  blue  eyes,  and  fair 
complexions— the  same  jihysictfl  Saxon  type, 
for  the  lioast  of  the  Climes  was,  that  not  one  drop 
of  Celtic  or  Norman  blood  ran  in  their  veins 
— it  was  a  pure,  una.lulterated  Saxon  stream,  to 
be  traced  back  to  days  long  before  the  Con- 
queror entered  England.  But  Lady  Agnes's 
haughty  ]>i  ide  and  grand  manner  were  entire- 
ly wanting  in  the  laughing  eyes  and  gay  smile 
of  her  only  son  nnd  heir,  Cliffe 

"  When  did  you  come  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  took 
his  cup  frou)  her  l.idysliip's  hand. 

'*  Yeateiday— di  1  not  my  not«  tell  you  ?" 

"True!  I  forgot  —  how  long  do  you  re- 
main ?" 

Lady  Agnes  buttered  her  roll  with  a  grave 
face. 

"  That  depends !"  she  quietly  aaid. 

"On  what?" 

"  On  you,  my  dear  boy." 

"  Oh  !  in  that  case,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  with 
his  bright  smile,  "you  will  certainly  remain 
until  tlic  end  of  the  London  season.  Does 
Charlotte  return  the  same  time  you  do  ?'' 

"  Who  told  you  Charlotte  was  here  at  all  ?" 
said  Lady  Agnes,  looking  at  him  intently. 

"  I  saw  her  with  you  last  night  at  the  theatre^ 
and  little  Leicester,  too  !" 

"  Were  you  in  the  box  with  Sir  Roland  and 
tlie  other  two  gen'lemen,  last  night?" 


0 


8 


UNMASKED ;  OR, 


"  Yee.  Don't  look  to  eliooke.l,  ray  iKi/ir 
juotherl  How  wm  I  to  g«;t  tlirougb  uli  Unit 
crowd  to  your  box?  and  he«iili'8, 1  was  engugcd 
to  Sir  Koland  for  n  HupiKr  at  lii«  rooins  :  we 
left  before  the  balltt.  liy  tlie  wiiy,  I  w.nid.r 
vou  were  not  too  ranch  fiuignod  witii  your 
jjonrimy,  both  of  you,  to  think  of  the  theiitro." 

"  I  WH8  fiitigned,"  said  Latly  Agiioa,  us  she 
■lowly  stirred  her  coffee  witIi  one  poiirl-whito 
hand,  and  gazed  intently  at  her  «t>n  ;  "  but  I 
went  folely  to  gee  that  ncircsB— wliab  do  you 
call  her?  Viviu,  or  eomething  of  tliat  aort,  ia 
it  not?*' 

'Mademoisel'e  Vivia  is  her  iianio,"  said  the 
young  man,  blushing  anddt-niy,  prolmbly  be- 
oauae  at  that  moment  he  took  a  sip  of  cotTee, 
scalding  hot. 

Lady  AgncB  shrugged  her  tapering  ehoulders, 
and  curled  her  lip  in  a  little,  slighting,  disdain- 
ful wiiy,  peculiar  to  herself. 

"  A  commitn  place  little  thing  na  ever  I  saw. 
They  told  me  -she  was  pretty ;  but  1  confesa 
when  I  saw  that  pallid  face  and  immense  black 
eyes,  I  never  was  so  disappointed  in  my  life.  I 
don't  fancy  her  acting,  either — it  is  a  great  deal 
too  tragic  ;  and  I  confess  I  am  nt  a  loss  to  know 
why  people  rave  about  her  as  they  do." 

"Bad  taate,  probably,"  said  her  aon,  laugh- 
ing, and  with  quite-recovered  composure  ; 
•*  since  you  differ  from  them,  and  yours  is  in- 
disputably perfect.  But  your  visit  to  the  thea- 
tre was  not  thrown  away  after  all,  for  you  must 
know  you  made  a  conquest  the  first  moment 
yoii  entered.  Did  you  aee  the  man  who  eat  be- 
side Sir  Koland,  and  stared  so  Laid  at  your 
box  ?" 

"  The  tall  young  gentleman  with  the  sickly 
foce  ?    Yea." 

"That  waa  Lord  Henry  Lisle — you  know  the 
Lislea,  of  Lisletown  ;  and  he  fell  desperately  in 
love  with  you  at  firat  sight." 

"Oh!  Donaense  !  don't  be  absurd,  ClifFe  !  I 
want  you  to  be  aerious  this  morning,  and  talk 
sense. 

"  But  it's  a  fact,  upon  my  honor !  Lisle  did 
nothing  but  rave  about  you  all  the  evening,  and 
proteated  you  were  the  prettieat  woman  in  the 
house." 

"  Bah !  Tell  me  about  yourself.  Cliffe — what 
have  you  been  doing  for  the  last  two  months  ?" 

"  On !  millions  of  things  !  Been  on  parade, 
fought  like  a  hero  in  the  sham  fights  in  the 
Park,  covered  myself  with  glory  in  the  reviews, 
made  love,  got  mto  debt,  went  to  tlie  opera, 
and—" 

"  To  the  theatre  !"  put  in  Lady  Agnes,  coolly. 

"  Certainly,  to  the  theatre  !  I  could  as  Boon 
exiat  without  my  dinn-r  :ia  without  that !" 

"  Precisely  so !  I  <l<)n  t  object  to  theatres  in 
the  least,"  said  Lady  Agnes,  transfixing  him 
witli  her  cold  blue  eyes,  "  but  when  it  comes  to 
nctrf'Sdcs,  it  is  going  a  little  too  far.  Cliffe, 
whiit  lire  tihoae  stores  that  pt^ople  are  whisper- 


ing about  you,  and  that  the  birds  of  the  air  liavo 
borne  oven  to  Cliltonlea  y" 

"  Stories  about  me  I  Haven't  the  first  idea. 
What  nre  they  V 

"  Don't  cijuivocate,  sirl  Di»  you  know  what 
has  brouglit  mo  up  to  town  in  such  haste  V  ' 

"  You  told  me  a  few  momenta  back,  if  my 
memory  serves  me,  that  it  waa  to  see  me." 

"  Exactly  I  and  to  make  you  giv^  me  a  final 
nnawer  on  a  aubject  we  have  often  discussed  be- 
fore." 

"  And  what  may  that  bo,  pray  ?" 

"Matrimony  !"  said  Lady  Agues,  in  her  quiet 
decided  way. 

Lieutenant  Shirley,  with  his  eyes  fixed  in- 
te'itly  on  his  plate,  began  cutting  a  slice  of 
toast  thereon  into  minute  squares,  with  as  mucii 

1)reoiBion  as  ho  had  used  in  spreading  his  nap- 
lin. 

"  Ah,  just  so !  A  very  pleasant  subject,  if 
you  and  I  could  only  take  the  same  view  of  it, 
which  we  don't.  Do  you  want  to  have  a  daugh- 
ter-in-law, to  quarrel  with  at  Castle  Ciiffe  so 
badly  that  you've  come  to  the  city  to  bring  one 
home  ?" 

"  One  thing,  I  don't  want.  Lieutenant  Shir- 
ley," said  Lady  Agnes,  somewhat  sharply,  "  is 
to  see  my  son  make  a  sentimental  fool  of  hini- 
selfl  Your  cousin  Charlotte  ia  here,  and  I 
waiit  you  to  marry  her  and  go  abroad.  Tve 
been  wisiiing  to  go  to  Rome  myself  for  the  Inst 
two  or  three  months,  and  it  will  be  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  go  with  you." 

"Thank   you,  mother!     But,  at  the   same 
time,  I'm  airuid  you  and  my  cousin  Charlolt 
must  hold  me  excused !"  said  the  Lieutenant,  in 
his  cool  manner. 

"  What  are  your  objections,  sir  ?" 

"  Their  name  ia  lenion  !  In  (ho  firat  place," 
said  the  young  gentleman,  beginning  to  count 
on  hia  fingera,  "  dhe  in  five  years  (dder  than  I 
am  ;  secondly,  she  is  fat— couldn't,  possibly, 
marry  any  one  but  a  elyph  ;  thirdly,  ahe  is  a 
widow— the  lady  I  raise  to  the  happiness  of  Mrs. 

L ,  must  give  me  a  heart  that  has  had  no 

former  lodger;  fourthly,  she  has  a  son,  and  I 
don't  precisely  fancy  the  idea  of  becoming,  at 
the  age  of  twenty,  papa  to  a  tall  b<y  of  six 
years;  and,  fifthly,  and  lastly,  and  conclusive- 
ly, ahe  is  my  cousin,  and  J  like  her  as  such, 
and  nothing  more,  and  wouldn't  marry  her  if 
ahe  was  the  last  woman  in  the  world  I" 

Though  this  somewhat  emphatic  refusal  waa 
delivered  in  the  coolest  and  most  careless  of 
tones,  there  was  a  determined  fire  in  hia  blue 
eyes  that  told  a  different  story.  Two  crimson 
spots,  all  unusuiil  therf,  #ere  burning  on  the 
lady's  fair  cheeks  ere  he  censed,  and  her  own 
eye"  flashed  bine  flame,  but  her  voice  wns  p^r- 
fectly  calm  an  '  ci<."ir  Tj'hI'  Airnes  whh  too 
great  a  lady  ever  to  get  iubu  «u  vulgar  a  thing 
as  a  passion. 

"  You  refuse  ?" 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


« 


the  air  liarc 

e  tirat  iJoa. 

I  know  wlmt 
Iwiat.o  r  ' 
hfick,  if  my 

ittO  IllU." 

•'  11)0  n  final 
iuciiiistid  Lo- 
in lier  quiet 

■es   fixed  in- 

A  aiice   of 

viMi  na  nuicli 

iiig  liJB  iinp- 

t  subject,  if 
IV  view  of  it, 
nve  ft  (liiiigh- 
!l,!e  Cliffe  BO 
tu  bring  one 

tenant  Sliir- 
eliarply,  "  i« 
fool  of  liini- 
liert',  and  1 
lb  road.  J"vo 
f  for  tlie  hist 
I  an  excellent 

at  the   enmo 
iin  Oharlott 
jieutenant,  in 


first  plflce,'" 
ling  to  count 
older  than  I 
I't,  possibly, 
dly,  she  is  a 
^iness  of  Mrs. 
I:  has  bnd  no 
a  son,  niid  I 
becoming,  nt 
1  boy  of  six 
I  conclusive- 
her  as  such, 
nnrry  her  if 
d!" 

5  refusal  was 
t  cfti'elegs  of 
e  in  his  blue 
Fwo  crimson 
ning  on  the 
md  her  own 
>iop  wfis  p-r- 
les  \v»iH  too 
ilgar  a  thing 


••  Moil  decidedly  !  Why,  In  Heaven's  name, 
my  dear  mother,  do  you  w mt  me  to  take  (with 
rovereneo  he  't  said)  tliat  great  8liii{  tor  it  wile  1" 

<'  Aud  |)ruy  what  earthly  rcMoiiri  are  there 
why  you  HhouiJ  uut  Uike  liery  i^iiu  i«  young 
mid  handsoiiie,  immenaely  rich,  and  of  one  oi' 
ilie  (ii'dt  families  in  DerhyHhirel  It  would  be 
the  bust  matuli  in  the  world !" 

"  {»»,  if  I  wanted  to  make  a  marimje  de  con- 
ejmnee.  I  am  rioli  enough  as  it  is,  and  Madam 
0  iiirlutte  may  keep  her  guineas,  and  her  blaok 
eyed,  and  her  tropical  person  for  whomever  vhe 
plea-ius.  Not  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  would 
tempt  me  to  marry  Ui«t  aensual,  full-blown, 
bii^h-bloodud  Cleopatra!" 

Oiirt  siiikrnlar  trait  of  L'mitenant  Shirley  was, 
that  hi;  said  the  strongest  and  moxt  pungent 
th  I  ;i  in  tlie  coolest  anifquietost  of  tones.  The 
fir'  in  his  lady  mother's  eyes  was  fierce,  the 
sp'iu  on  her  cheeks,  h<  ^and  tlaming,  nnd  in  her 
voice  there  was  a  ringing  tone  of  command. 

"  And  your  reasons!" 

"  I  have  given  you  half  a  dozen  already,  ma 
mire  /" 

"  They  are  not  worth  thinkinc;  of— there  must 
be  a  stronger  one  I  Lieutenant  Hhirley,  I  de- 
mand to  know  what  it  is  ?" 

"  My  good  mother,  be  content!  I  bate  this 
subject.     Why  cannot  we  lot  it  rest." 

"  It  shall  never  rest  now  I  Speak,  sir,  I  com- 
mand I 

"  Motlier,  what  do  you  wish  to  know?" 

"  There  is  another  reason  for  this  obstinate 
refusal— what  is  it?" 

"  You  had  better  not  ask  me — you  will  not 
like  to  know !" 

"Out  with  it!" 

"  The  very  best  reason  in  the  world,  then,"  he 
said,  witli  hia  careless  laugh.  "  I  am  married 
alroadv  I"  

CHAPTER  HI. 

THE  HRIRE9S  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 

A  stormy  March  morning  was  breaking  over 
Lon<lon.  The  rain  and  sleet,  driven  by  the 
wind,  beat  and  olammered  against  the  windows, 
flew  furiously  through  the  streets,  and  out  over 
grive-yarda,  brickfields,  marshes,  and  blenk 
commons,  to  the  open  country,  where  wind  and 
sleet  bowled  to  the  bare  trees,  and  around  cot- 
tages, as  if  the  very  spirit  of  the  tempest  was 
out  on  the  "rampage".  Moat  of  these  cottages 
out  among  briok-yards  and  ghastly  wastes  of 
marsh,  had  tlieir  dfoors  secured,  nnd  their  shut- 
ters closely  fastened,  as  if  they,  too,  like  tlieir 
inmates,  were  fast  asleep,  and  defied  the  storm. 
But  there  was  one  standing  awav  from  the  rest, 
on  the  hill-side,  whose  occupants,  judging  from 
appearances,  were  certainly  not  sleeping.  Its 
two  front  windows  were  bright  with  tlie  illumin- 
ation of  fire  and  candle,  and  their  light  flared 
out  red  and  lurid  far  over  the  desolate  wastes. 
The  abutters  were  open,  the  blinds  tip,  and  the 


vivid  glare  would  have  bton  a  welcome  tight  to 
any  atoriu  beaten  traveler,  hud  itiieh  beun  out 
that  impetuous  March  day  .  hut  nobody  wm 
foolhardy  enough  to  be  abroad  at  that  diitinal 
liourof  that  duiiial  morning  ;  and  tue  ma'i  wh-> 
8at  bet'ore  the  great  wood  tire  in  tlie  p:  ^lal 
Mom  of  tie  Cottage,  thou^^h  he  liate'ieu  uii^^ 
watched,  like  sister  Anne  on  Oie  toweito|).  |o^ 
Homebody  s  couiing,  tliat  Homebody  uaiiie  not, 
and  ho  and  tiis  matin  luedilatious  were  left  nii- 
disturbeil.  lie  wuh  a  young  man,  Bunburiit  and 
Kood-looking— a  lahoi.T  unniiHtakably,  though 
dressed  in  Inn  l/est ;  and  with  his  chair  drawn  up 
close  to  the  fire,  and  a  boot  on  eaeh  andiron, 
he  drowsily  HUioked  a  short  clay  pipe.  The 
room  was  uh  neat  and  clean  as  any  room  could 
be,  the  floor  fanltleosly  sanded,  the  poor  furni- 
ture deftly  arranged,  and  all  looked  oozy  aud 
cheerful  in  the  ruddy  fire  light. 

There  was  nobody  else  in  the  room,  and  the 
rattling  of  the  raiu  and  sleet  against  the  win- 
dows, the  dull  roar  of  the  firte,  and  the  sharp 
chirping  of  a  cricket  on  the  heart h,  were  tlie 
only  aounda  that  broke  the  tilenoe.  Yes,  there 
waa  another :  once  or  twice,  wliile  the  man  ent 
and  smoked,  and  nodded,  and  listened  to  r,\io 
storm,  there  had  been  the  feeble  cry  of  an  in- 
fant ;  and  at  such  times  he  had  started*  and 
looked  uneasily  at  a  door  behind  him,  opening 
evidently  into  another  room.  As  a  little  Dutch 
clock  on  the  roantel-piece  chimed  slowly  six, 
this' door  opened,  and  a  young,  fair-haired,  pret- 
ty woman  came  out.  Her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen  with  weeping,  and  slie  carried  a  great 
bundle  of  something  rolled  in  flannel  carefully 
in  her  arms.  The  man  looked  up  iuquisitivelT 
and  took  the  pipe  out  of^his  mouth. 

"Well?"  he  pettishly  asked. 

"  Oh,  poor  dear,  she  is  gone  at  last !"  said 
the  woman,  breaking  out  into  a  freah  shower  of 
tears.  "  She  has  just  departed!  '  I  feel  tired, 
and  if  you  will  take  the  baby  I  will  try  to  sleep 
now,'  siie  says,  and  then  she  kisses  it  with  her 
own  pretty,  loving  smile ;  and  I  takes  it  up, 
aud  ahe  just  turns  her  face  to  the  wall  and  dies. 
O  poor  dear  young  lady!"  with  another  ten- 
der-hearted tempest  of  aobs. 

"  How  uncommon  sudden !"' 
looking  meditatively  at  the  fire, 
baby?" 

"  Yes,  the  pretty  little  dear  I 
sweetly  it  sleeps.' 

The  young  woman  unrolled 
flannel,  and  displayed  an  infant  of  very  tender 
age  indeed — inasmuch  as  it  could  not  have  been 
a  wpek  old — simmering  therein.  It  waa  very 
much  like  any  other  young  baby  in  tliat  fresh 
nnd  green  atage  of  existence,  having  only  one 
peculiarity,  that  it  was  the  merest  trifle  of  a. 
baby  ever  waa  seen.  A  decent  wax-doll  would 
have  been  a  giantcsm  beside  it.  The  mite  of  a 
creature,  void  of  hair,  and  eyebrows,  nnd  nails, 
sleeping  so  quietly  in  a  sea  of  yellow  flannel, 


said  the  man, 
"Is  that  the 

Do  look  how 

the  bundle  of 


C 

fM 


10 


UNMASfeED;  OR, 


""nae 


might  have  gone  into  a  quart-mug,  nnd  found  I 
the  preinisfs  loo  cxtensire  mv  it  at  that.    Joliu 
I  >ukeJ  nt  it  as  men  do  look  at  very  uew  babies, 
nitU  u  suioiuu  and  awe-Btruci{  face. 

"  It"3  a  very  email  baby,  isn't  it  ?"  he   re- 

niarkt-d,  in  a  subdued  tone.    "  I  should  be  afraid 

lay  my  finger  on  it,  for  fear  of  crushing  it  to 

eatli.     It's  a  girl,  you  told  me,  didn't  you  V" 

"To  be  sure  it's  a  girl,  bless  it's  little  iieart! 

Will  you  cume  and  look  at  the   young  lady, 

Jolm  f' 

John  got  up  and  followed  his  wife  into  th.i 
inucr  '-jou].  It  was  a  bedroom  ;  like  the  apart- 
ment they  had  left,  very  neat  ;  but,  unlike  that, 
very  tastetully  furnished.  The  floor  had  a 
)»retty  carpet  of  green  and  white ;  its  windows 
were  draped  with  white  and  green  s:i  c.  A  pret- 
ty toilet-table,  under  i  large  gilt-framed  mirror, 
with  a  handsome  dressing-case  thereon,  was  in 
one  corner ;  a  guitar  and  uuisi^-rack  in  another ; 
a  htunge  witit  grccii  silk  cushions  in  a  third; 
and.  111  a  fourtii,  u  i^'rencb  bedstead,  all  druped 
and  covered  with  wiiite.  Near  the  bed  stood  a 
round  gilded  stand,  strewn  with  vials,  medicine- 
botiles,  and  glasses ;  beside  it.  a  great  sleepy- 
hollow  of  an  arm-chair,  also  cushioned  wiih 
green  silk  ;  and  oa  the  bod  lay  the  raistriss  and 
owner  of  all  theae  pretty  tilings,  who  had  left 
them,  and  all  otiier  thinj;s  eartlily,  forever,  A 
sliaded  lamp  stood  on  the  dressing-table.  The 
womun  tuoK  it  up  and  held  it  so  that  its  light 
fell  full  on  the  dead  face — a  lovely  face,  whiter 
than  alabaster  ;  a  slight  smile  lingering  round 
the  parted  lips;  tiie  black  lashes  lying  at  rest 
on  tlie  pure  cheek ;  the  black,  arched  e^'ebrows 
sh.irply  traced  agriinst  tlie  white,  smooth  brow, 
staiupoil  with  the  majestic  seal  of  death.  A  pro- 
f.ifion  of  curling  hair,  of  purplish  black  lustre, 
eireained  over  the  wiiite  pillow  and  her  own 
delicate  white  nigiit-roht.  One  arm  was  under 
her  heail.  Hi  she  had  oficM  lain  in  life;  and  the 
other,  which  was  outsiile  of  tlie  clothes,  was  al- 
ready cold  and  stiff.  Man  and  woman  gazed  in 
■-awe — neither  spoke.  Tlie  still  majesty  of  the 
f.ict' h'lslied  them  ;  and  tiie  man,  after  looking 
for  a  luiin.eut,  turned  and  walked  out;  on  tiptoe, 
ns  if  araid  to  wake  the  calm  sleeper.  The  wom- 
an ilrew  the  shi  et  reverently  over  the  face,  laid 
the  sleeping  baby  among  the  soft  cushions  of 
the  lounge,  followed  her  husband  to  the  outer 
room,  and  closed  the  do  r.  lie  resumed  his 
seat  and  loked  seriously  into  the  fire;  and  she 
fto"d  besiJe  him,  with  <-iie  hand  resting  on  his 
.shoulder,  nnd  crying  s-iftly  still. 

*'  Pi>or  dear  la.ly !  To  think  that  she  should 
die  awiiy  from  all  her  friends  like  this,  and  she 
e»  young  and  beautiful,  too!" 

'•  Young  and  beautiful  folks  must  die,  as  well 

ns  oM  and  ngly  ones,  when  their  time  comes," 

said  the  man,  with  a  touch  of  philosophy.     "  But 

litis  Due  is  uncommon  handsome,  no  mistake. 

.^nd  so  yon  don't  know  her  name,  Jenny  ?'' 

'-*'No,"  »aid  Jenny,  shaking  her  head  retro- 


spectively, "her  and  him— that's  the  yonng 
genllemiiU,  you  know — came  bright  and  early 
—  morning  '■    " 1      -_j  ■  ,    .      .     i 


one 


in  a  coach ; 


"  and  my  opinion 
a  scamp,  and  the 


and  he  said  he  haU 
heard  we  were  poor  folks  and  lately  married, 
and  would  not  object  to  taking  a  lodger  for  a 
little  while,  if  she  paid  well  and  gave  no  trouble. 
Of  course,  I  was  glad  to  jump  at  the  offer  ;  and 
he  gave  me  twenty  guineas  to  begin  with,  and 
told  me  to  have  the  room  furnished,  and  not  say 
anything  about  my  lodger  to  anybody.  The 
young  lady  seemed  to  be  ill  then,  and  was  shiv- 
ering with  cold ;  b"<t  she  was  patient  as  an  an- 
gel, and  smiled  and  thanked  me  like  one  for 
everything  I  did  f>r  her.  Atnl  that's  the  whole 
story  ;  and  the  young  gentleman  has  never  been 
here  since." 

"And  that's — ^how  long  ago  is  that?" 

"  Three  weeks  to-morrow.  You  just  went  to 
London  that  very  morning,  yourself,  you  re- 
member, John." 

"  I  remember,"  said  John  ; 
is,  the  young  gentleman  is 
yo'ing  lady  no  better  nor  she  ought  to  be." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  retorts  his  wife  with 
spirit.  "  She's  a  angel  in  that  bedroom,  if  ever 
thii-e  was  one!  Only  yesterday,  when  the  doc- 
tor toll  her  she  was  a  dying,  she  asked  for  pen 
and  ink  to  write  to  her  husband,  and  she  said  if 
he  was  living  it  would  bring  him  to  her  before 
she  died  yet — poor  dear  darling!" 

"But  It  didn't  do  it,  though!"  said  John, 
with  a  triumphant  grin,  "and  I  don't  believe — 

Here  John's  words  were  jerked  out  of  his 
mnuth,  as  it  were,  by  tlie  furious  gallop  of  a 
horse  tiirough  the  r>in;andthe  next  moment 
there  w.as  a  thundering  knock  at  the  door  that 
made  the  cottage  shake.  John  sprang  up  and 
opened  it,  and  there  entered  the  dripping  form 
of  a  man,  wearing  a  long  cloak,  and  with  his 
military  cap  pulled  over  his  face  to  shield  it 
from  the  storm.  Before  the  door  was  closed, 
the  cloak  and  cap  were  off,  and  the  woman  saw 
the  face  of  the  handsome  young  gentleman  who 
had  brought  her  lodger  there.  But  thiit  face 
W'ls  changed  now;  it  was  as  thin  and  bloodless 
almost  as  that  of  the  quiet  sleejier  in  ihe  other 
room,  and  there  was  something  of  fierce  inten- 
sity in  his  eager  eyes.  At  the  sight  of  him, 
Jenny  put  her  apron  over  her  face  and  broke 
out  into  a  fresh  shower  of  sobs. 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  he  asked  through  his  closed 
teeth. 

The  woman  opened  the  bedroom  door,  and 
he  followed  her  in.  At  sight  cf  the  white  shape 
lying  so  dreadfully  still  under  the  sheetf,  he  re- 
coiled ;  but  the  next  moment  he  was  bcsiiie  the 
bed.  Jenny  laid  her  hand  on  the  sheet  to  draw 
it  down,  he  laid  his  there,  too  ;  the  chill  of  death 
struck  to  his  heart,  and  he  lifted  her  hand  away. 

"No!"  he  said  hoarsely,  "let  it  be.  When 
did  she  die?" 

"  Not  half  an  hour  ago,  sir." 

"You  had  a  doctor?" 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFPE. 


11 


le  yonng 
imd  early 
d  liti  liad 
niarrieJ, 
iger  for  a 
o  trouble, 
offer ;  and 
with,  and 
id  not  say 
)dy.  The 
was  shiv- 
as  an  an- 
e  one  for 
tlio  wiiule 
ever  been 

?" 

st  went  to 

f,  you  re- 

ly  opinion 
),  and  the 
)  be." 
wife  with 
)m,  if  ever 
n  the  doo- 
id  for  pen 
she  said  if 
her  before 

laid  John, 
believe — 
out  of  his 
allop  of  a 
t  uiouiont 
door  Mint 
ig  up  and 
ping  form 
with  his 
>  shield  it 
as  closed, 
'oman  saw 
eraan  who 
that  face 
Moodlt'ss 
ihe  otlior 
;rce  inten- 
it  of  him, 
md  broke 

his  closed 

door,  and 
hite  shape 
cet,  he  re- 
bcsi<!e  the 
et  to  draw 
11  of  death 
land  away. 
«.    When 


"  Yes,  sir,  he  oiime  every  day ;  he  came  last  I 
night,  but  he  oould  do  nothing  for  hor."  | 

"  Is  that  man  in  the  next  room  your  husband  ?' 

"  Yes,  your  honor." 

"  Tell  him,  then,  to  go  and  purchase  a  coffin, 
and  order  the  sexton  to  have  the  grave  prepared 
I  y  this  evening.  In  twenty-four  lionrs  I  K?ave 
England  forever,  and  I  must  see  her  laid  in  the 
grave  before  I  depart." 

"And  the  baby,  sir?"  saiil  the  woman,  tim- 
idly, half-''rightened  by  hi^  stern,  almost  harsh 
tone.     "  Will  you  n«>t  look  at  it  —here  it  is." 

"  No !"  said  tlio  young  man,  fiercely.  "  Take 
it  And  begone !" 

Jenny  snatched  up  the  baby,  an<l  fled  in  dis- 
may ;  and  the  young  man  sat  down  b<  side  his 
dead,  and  laid  his  face  on  the  pillow  wiiere  the 
dead  face  lay.  Rain  and  hail  still  lashed  the 
windows,  the  wind  shrieked  in  <lismnl  blasts 
over  the  bare  brick  fields  and  bleak  common. 
Morning  was  lifting  a  dull  and  leaden  eye  over 
the  distant  hills,  and  the  iiow-burn  <iay  gave 
promise  of  turning  out  as  eullon  a'ld  dreary  as 
even  a  March  day  could  well  d".  "  lUeescd  is 
the  corpse  that  the  rain  rains  on  !"  and  so  Jen- 
ny thought,  as  she  laid  the  baby  on  her  own 
bed,  and  watched  her  husband  plunging  through 
the  rain  and  wind  on  his  doleful  errand. 

The  dark,  sad  hours  stole  on,  and  the  solitary 
watjher  in  the  room  of  death  kept  his  vigil  un- 
disturbed. Breakfast  and  dinnor-liour  pastiod, 
and  Jenny's  hospitable  heart  ached  to  think 
that  the  young  gentleman  had  not  a  mouthful 
to  eat  all  the  blessed  time  ;  but  she  would  not 
have  t?»ken  broad  England  and  venture  to  open 
that  door  uninvited  again.  And  so,  wiiile  the 
storm  raged  on  without,  the  lamp  flared  on  the 
dressing-table,  the  dark  wintry  day  stole  on, 
and  the  lonely  watcher  sat  there  still.  It  was 
within  an  hour  of  dusk,  and  Jenny  sat  near  the 
fire  singing  a  soft  lullaby  to  the  baby,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  he  stood  befor  '  her  like  a  tall, 
dark  ghost?" 

"lias  the  coffin  come?"  he  asked.  And 
Jenny  started  up  and  nearly  dropped  the  babv 
with  a  shriek,  at  the  hoarse  and  hollow  sound 
of  his  voice. 

"  0  yes,  sir,  there  it  is !" 

The  dismal  thing  stood  up  black  and  ominous 
against  the  opposite  wall.  He  j"st  glanced  at 
it  and  then  back  again  at  her. 

"  And  the  grave  hat  been  dug?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  and  if  you  please,  the  undertaker 
has  sent  his  hearse  on  account  «f  the  rain,  and 
it  is  waiting  now  in  the  shed.  My  John  is 
there,  too.  I  will  oall  him  in,  sir,  if  you 
please." 

He  made  a  gesture  in  the  affirmative,  and 
Jenny  flew  out  to  do  her  errand.  When  she  re- 
turned with  her  John,  the  young  man  assisted 
Jiim  in  laying  the  <lead  form  within  the  coffin, 
and  they  both  carried  it  to  the  door  and  laid  it 
within  the  hearse. 


•*  You  will  come  back,  sir,  won't  yon  ?"  ven- 
tured Jei:ny,  standing  at  the  door  and  weeping 
incessantly  behind  her  apron. 

"Yes.     G.I  on!" 

The  lienrse  started  :  and  John  and  the  stran- 
ger foiliiwed  to  the  la.st  re8tiii<ji)Iiice  of  her  ly- 
ing within.  It  was  all  drt^ary,  the  darkenini^^tk 
sky,  the  drenched  earth,  l,he  gloomy  hearse,  an(^^ 
the  two  solitary  figures  following  silently  after, 
with  bowed  heads  tlirough  the  beaving  s'orin. 
Luckily  tlie  cimrchynrd  was  near.  The  sexton, 
at  sight  of  them,  ran  off  for  the  clergyman, 
who,  sl)ive:-ing  and  relnciant,  appeared  on  the 
scene  just  as  the  coffin  was  lowered  to  thu 
ground. 

"  Aslies  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust!"  The  beauti- 
ful burial-service  of  tiie  English  Church  was 
over.  Tlie  coffin  was  lowered,  and  the  sods 
went  rattling  drearily  down  on  the  lid.  The 
young  raan  stood  bareheaded,  his  auburn  hair 
fluttering  in  the  wind,  and  the  storm  beating 
unheed'd  on  Ids  head.  John  was  barehead- 
ed, too,  much  against  his  will  ;  but  the 
clergyman  ran  hotne  with  uncicrical  haste  the 
moment  the  last  word  was  uttered  ;  and  the 
sexton  shoveled  and  beat  down  the  sods  with 
professional  phlegm.  Just  then,  fluttering  in 
the  wind,  a  figure  came  throuirh  the  leailen 
twilight ;  the  j'oung  man  lifted  his  gloomy  eye«. 
and  the  new-comer  his  hat.  He  had  yellow  a^ 
hair,  and  a  jaundice  complexion,  and  his  over  y^ 
coat  was  a  sort  of  yellowish  brown — in  short,  it  ^^ii 
was  Mr.  Sylvester  Sweet.  |Ji| 

"Good-morning,  Lieutenant  Shirley  !  Who  in 
the  world  would  expect  to  meet  you  here  ?  Not 
lost  a  friend,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  excuse  me,  Mr.  Sweet. 
I  wish  to  be  alone  '."  was  the  cold  and  haughty 
reply. 

And  Mr.  Sweet,  with  an  angel  smile  rippling 
all  over  his  face,  left  accordingly,  and  disap- 
peared in  the  dismal  gloaming. 

With  the  last  sod  beaten  down,  the  sexton  de- 
parted, and  John  went  slowly  to  the  gate  to  wait 
in  wet  impatience  for  the  young  gentleman. 
Standing  at  his  post,  he  saw  that  same  young 
gentlcmaa  kneel  down  on  the  soaking  sods,  lean 
his  arm  on  the  rude  wooden  cross  the  sexton 
had  tiirust  at  the  liead  of  the  grave,  and  lay  his 
face  thereon.  So  long  did  he  kneel  there,  with 
tlie  coid  March  rain  benting  down  on  his  un- 
covered head,  that  John's  teeth  were  chattering, 
and  an  inky  darkness  was  falling  over  the  city 
of  the  dead.  But  he  rose  at  last,  and  came 
striding  to  his  side;  passed  him  with  tremendous 
sweeps  of  limb,  and  was  standing,  dripping 
like  a  water-god,  before  tlie  kitclien  fire,  when 
tlie  good  man  of  the  house  entered.  Jenny 
was  iu  a  low  chair,  with  the  baby  on  her  lap, 
still  sleeping — its  principal  occupation  appar- 
ently ;  and  he  looked  at  it  with  a  cold,  steady, 
glance,  very  like  that  of  his  lady  mother. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  England,"  he  said,  ad- 


12 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


dressing  them  botli,  wliea  John  entered.  "In 
twenty-fuur  hours  I  am  going  tu  India,  and  if  I 
should  never  oouie  back,  whut  will  you  do  with 
that  child?" 

"Keep  it  always,"  said  Jenny,  kissing  it. 
^  Dear  little  thing !  I  love  it  already  as  if  it 
^Bfcrere  my  own  I" 

."If  1  live,  it  will  not  only  be  .provided  for, 
but  you  will  be  well  paid  for  your  trouble.  You 
.  may  take  this  as  a  guarantee  of  the  future,  and 
BO— goo'1-bye !"  ' 

He  dropped  a  purse  heavy  with  |;uinea8  into 

John's  willing  palm;  then  going  ov^,  looked  nt 

the  sleeping  infant  with  a  cold,  set  face,  for  one 

i     instant,  and  then  stooping  down,  touched  his 

!     lips  lightly  to  its  velvet  cheek.  And  then,  wrap- 

Eing  his  cloak  closely  around  him,  and  pnlling 
is  military  cap  far  over  his  brows,  he  was  out 
I     into   the  wild,  black   night.     They  heard   his 
horse's  hoofs  splashing  over  the  marshy  com- 
mon, and  they  knew  not  even  the  name  of  the 
,     "  marble  guest"  who  c«me  and  disappeared  as 
I     mvsteriously  as   the   Black  Horseman  in   the 
German  tale. 

And  so  the  world  went !   In  her  fur-off  home, 

amid  the  green  hills  and  golden  Sussex  downs, 

sat  a  lady,  whose  pride  was  so  ranch  stronger 

than  her  love,  that   by  her  own  act  she  had 

made  herself  a  childless,  broken-hearted  woman. 

I     Steaming  down  the  Thames,  in  a  great  trans- 

!     port,  a  young  officer  stood,  with  folded  arms, 

I     watching  the  receding  shores  he  might  never 

i     Bee  again,  whose   love  was  so   much  stronger 

than  his  pride,  that  he  was  leaving  his  native 

land  with  a  prayer  in  his  heart  that  some  Sepoy 

I     bullet  might  lay  him  dead  under  the  blazing 

I     Indian  sky  ;  and,  sleeping  in  her  cottage  home, 

j     all  unconscious  of  the  destiny  before  her,  lay 

I     the  Utile  heiress  of  Castle  Cliffe  ! 

CHAPTER  IV. 

TWELVE   YEARS   AFTER. 

The  great  bell  of  Clifton  Cathedral  was  just 
riuging  the  hour  of  five.  The  early  morning 
was  dim  with  haasy  mist,  but  the  sky  was  blue 
ard  cloud  less;  and  away  in  the  east,  a  crimson 
glory  was  spreading,  ihe  herald  of  the  rising 
>iun.  Early  us  the  hour  was,  all  was  bustle  and 
busy  life  in  the  town  of  Cliftonlea ;  you  would 
have  thought,  had  you  seen  the  concourse  of 
|>eople  in  High  street,  it  was  noon  instead  of  five 
in  tlie  morning.  Windows,  too,  were  opening 
in  every  direction ;  night-capped  heads  being 
popped  out ;  anxious  glances  being  cast  at  the 
sky,  and  then  the  night-caps  were  popped  in 
again  ;  the  windows  slammed  down,  and  every- 
body making  the'r  toilet,  eager  to  be  out. 
Usually,  Cliftonlea  was  as  quiet  and  well-be- 
haved a  town  as  any  in  England,  but  on  the 
night  prtvi'^"",  fcO  this  memorable  morning,  its 
two  serene  guardian  nngeis  ^eace  and  Quiet- 
ness, had  taken  uulu  Ihomselves  wings  and  flown 


far  away.  The  clatter  of  horses  and  wheels  had 
made  uight  hideous  ;  the  jingliug  of  bells  and 
shouts  of  children,  and  the  tramp  of  numberless 
footsteps,  had  awoke  the  dull  echoes  from  night- 
fall till  daydawn.  In  short,  not  to  keep  any 
one  in  suspense,  this  was  the  first  day  of  the 
annual  Cliftonlea  Races— and  Bartlemy  Fair,  in 
the  days  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  was  not  a  cir- 
cumsta'noe  to  the  Cliftonlea  Races.  Nobody  in 
the  whole  town,  under  the  sensible  and  settled 
age  of  thirty,  tliought  of  mating  a  mouthful  that 
morning ;  it  was  sacrilege  to  think  of  such  a 
groveling  matter  as  breakfast  on  the  first  glo- 
rious day  ;  and  so  new  coats  and  hats,  and  smart 
dresses,  were  donned,  and  all  the  young  folks 
came  pouring-  out  in  one  continuous  stream 
toward  the  scene  of  action. 

The  long,  winding  road  of  three  miles,  between 
Cliftonlea  and  the  race-course,  on  common 
every-day  days,  was  the  pleasantest  road  in  the 
world — bordered  with  fragrant  hawthorn  hedg- 
es, with  great  waving  fields  of  grain  and  clover 
on  each  hand,  and  slnidowed  here  and  there  with 
giant  beeches  and  elms.  But  it  was  nut  a  par- 
ticularly cool  or  tranquil  tramp  on  this  morn- 
ing, for  the  throng  of  vehicles  and  foot-passen- 
gers was  feartul,  and  the  clouds  of  simooms  of 
dust  more  frightful  stdl-  There  were  huge  re- 
freshment caravans,  whole  troops  of  strolling 
players,  gangs  of  gipsies,  wandering  minstrels, 
and  all  such  roving  vagabonds  ,  great  booths 
on  four  wheels,  carts,  drays,  wagons,  and  every 
species  of  conveyance  imaginable.  There  were 
equestrians,  too,  chiefly  mounted  on  mules  and 
donkeys ;  there  were  jinglin^^  of  bells,  and  no 
end  of  shouting,  cursing,  aui  vbciferating,  so 
that  it  was  the  liveliest  morni.ig  that  road  had 
known  for  at  least  twelve  mon:.hs. 

There  rose  the  brightest  of  suiis,  and  the  bluest 
of  skies,  scorching  and  glaring  hot.  The  vol- 
umes of  dust  were  awful,  and  came  rolling  even 
into  the  town  ;  but  still  the  road  was  crowded, 
and  still  the  cry  was,  "  They  come  !"  But  the 
people  and  vehicles  which  passed  were  of  an- 
other nature  now.  The  great  caravans  and 
huge  carts  had  almost  ceased,  and  young  Eng- 
land came  flashing  along  in  tandems,  and  dog- 
carts, and  flies,  and  four-in-hands,  or  mounted 
on  prancinir  steeds.  The  ofiiicers  from  the  Clif- 
tonlea barracks — dashing  dragoons  in  splendid 
uniforms — flew  like  the  wind  through  the  dusti 
and  sporting  country-gentlemen  in  top-boots  and 
knowing  caps,  and  fox-hunters  in  pink,  and 
betting  men,  and  black  legs,  book  in  hand,  follow- 
ed, as  if  life  and  death  depended  on  their  haste.  In 
two  or  three  more  hours  came  another  change — 
supero  barouches,  broughams,  pheetons,  grand 
carriages  with  coachmen  and  footmen  in  livery, 
magnificent  horses  in  silver  harness,  rich  ham- 
meroiotbs  with  coats  of  arms  emblazoned  there- 
on, came  roiling  splendidly  up,  filled  with 
splendid  ladies  All  the  great  folks  for  fifty 
miles  round  came  to  the  Cliftonlea  races;  even 


the  Right  Re^ 
deigned  lu  uon 
And  the  see; 
describe  it? 
refreBliment-b< 
ot  amusement 
the  hundreds  i 
hither  and  thi 
living  sea ;  thf 
near  the  raoe-g 
visions  of  glf 
waving  plume 
air  was  filled 
performers,  m 
not  unpieasan 
was  the  cloadl 
Bun. 

A  group  of 
betting-books 
its  of  the  rival 
Vivia,  owned 
lea,  and  Lad; 
Lisle,  of  Lisle 
day. 

"  Two  to  OB 
las,  of  the  Lig 
"Done!"  c 
ready  to  bad 
odds!" 

The  bets  w< 
las  put  his  be 
smile  on  his  1 
and  wide,  he 
"And  here 
looking  statel 
she  always  do 
"  Where  ?" 
Warwick,  looi 
^pect!lcles. 
roan." 

'•  I  don't  m 
Douglas,  laui; 
Agues  hersell 
tilts,  iiUe  a  f 
pony  phaeton 
"  llandsona 
young  Ensi{j 
That's  her  nc 
who  is  that  I 
"  That's  h( 
they  say  the 
'•  How  car 
thought  the  < 
"  The  Shir 
the  village  i 
of  Lady  Agn 
Shirley.  So 
strictly  entai 
nes  can  leave 
if  she  likes." 
"  Has  she  i 
Major,  who  v 
liltlo  ttupid 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


1 


lie  Right  RevereiKl  tli«  Bisliop  uf  Clifboulea 
dbigiied  lu  uome  luere  hiraoelt'. 

AuJ  the  Boeue  on  the  ra<e«-ground — who  shall 
deticribe  it?  The  circuses,  the  theatres,  the 
refreshment-boutlis,  the  thousaDd-and-ooe  places 
ot  ainuseineut  aud  traps  tor  catching  money ; 
the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  people  running 
hither  aud  thither  over  the  green  sward  in  one 
living  sea ;  the  long  array  of  carribges  drawn  up 
near  the  raoe-ground  and  tilled  with  such  dazzling 
visions  of  glancing  silk,  and  fluttering  lace, 
waving  plumes  and  beautiful  faces.  Then  the 
air  was  filled  with  music  from  the  countless 
performers,  making  up  a  sort  of  oats'  concert, 
not  unpleasant  to  listen  to  ;  and  over  all  there 
was  the  oloadless  blue  sky  and  blazing  August 
Bun. 

A  group  of  officers  standing  near  the  oourfle, 
betting-books  iu  hand,  were  discussing  the  mer- 
its of  the  rival  racers,  and  taking  down  wagers. 
Vivia,  owned  by  Sir  Roland  Cliffe,  of  Ciiltou- 
lea,  and  Lady  Agnes,  owned  by  Lord  Henry 
Lisle,  of  Lisletiam,  were  to  take  the  lend  tiiut 
day. 

"  Two  to  one  on  Vivia  !"  cried  Captain  Doug- 
las, of  the  Light  Dragoons. 

"  Done !"  cried  a  brother  officer.  "  I  am 
ready  to  back  the  Lady  Agnes  against  any 
odds!" 

The  bets  were  booked,  and  as  Captain  Doug- 
las put  his  betting-book  in  his  pocket  with  a 
smile  on  his  lip,  and  his  quick  eye  glanced  far 
and  wide,  he  suddenly  exclaimed  : 

"And  here  comes  th»  Lady  Agnes  herself, 
louking  stately  as  u  queen  and  fair  as  a  lily,  as 
she  always  does." 

"  Where  f"  said  his  superior  officer,  old  Major 
Warwick,  looking  helplessly  round  through  Liis 
Npcctiicles.  "  1  thought  Lady  Agnes  was  a 
roan." 

'•  I  don't  mean  the  red  mare,"  said  Captain 
Douglas,  laughing,  "  but  the  real  bona  fide  Ludy 
Agues  herself— Lady  Agnes  Sliirley.  There  she 
Bits,  like  a  princess  in  a  play,  in  that  superb 
pony  phseton." 

"Handsomest  woman  in  Sussex!"  lisped  a 
young  Ensign,  "  aud  wortli  no  end  of  tin. 
That's  her  nephew,  young  Shirley,  driving,  aud 
who  is  that  little  fright  ju  the  backseat?' 

"  That's  her  niece,  little  Maggie  Shirley,  and 
they  say  the  heiross  of  Castle  Ciitfe." 

"How  can  that  be?'  said  the  Major.  "I 
thought  the  estate  was  entailed." 

"The  Shirley  i:s  ates  are,  but  the  castle  and 
the  village  adjoining  were  the  wedding-dower 
of  Lady  Agnes  Cliffe  when  she  married  Doctor 
Sliirley.  So,  though  the  Shirley  property  is 
strictly  entailed  to  the  nearest  of  kin,  Lady  Ag- 
nes can  leave  Castle  Cliflfe  to  her  kitchen-maid, 
if  she  likes." 

"  Has  slie  no  children  of  her  own  ?"  asked  the 
Major,  who  was  a  stranger  in  Cliftonlea,  and  a 
littio  Btnpid  about  pedigree. 


'•  None  now  ;  she  had  a  son,  Cliflfe  Shirley — 
splendid  fellow  he  wns,  too.  He  was  one  of  us, 
aud  as  brave  as  a  iion.  We  served  together 
some  years  in  India.  I  remember  him  so  well, 
there  was  not  a  man  in  the  whole  regiment  who 
would  not  have  died  for  him,  but  he  was  a  dis- 
carded son !" 

"  How  was  that  ?  Lady  Agnes  looks  more 
like  an  angel  than  a  vindictive  mother." 

"  Oh,  your  female  angels  often  turn  out  to 
have  the  heart  of  Old  Nick  himself,"  said  Cap- 
tain  Douglas,   tightening   his   belt.     "  I  don't 
mean  to  say  she  has,  you  know ;    but  those 
Cliflfes  are   infernally  proud  people.    They  all 
are.    I  have  known  some  of  their  distant  cous- 
ins, and  so  on,  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  and  proud 
as  the  devil.     Cliffe  Shirley  committed   that 
most  heinous  of  social  crimes — a  low  marriage. 
There  was  the  dickens  to  pay,  of  course,  when 
my  lady  yonder  heard  it ;  and  the  upshot  was, 
the  poor  fellow  was  disinherited.    His  wife  died 
a  vti&r  after  the  marriage  ;  but  he  had  a  daugh- 
ter.   I  remember  his  telling  me  of  her  a  thou- 
oaod  times,  with  the  stars  of  India  sliining  down 
on  o'lt  bivouac.     Poor  Clifford !  he  was  a  glo- 
rious fellow!  but  I   have  heard  he  was  killed 
since  I  came  home,  scaling  the  walls  of  Mona- 
goola,  or  Huoh  some  such  place." 
"  Whom  diJ  he  marry  ?" 
'•  I  forgot,  now     He  never  would  speak  of 
his  wife  ;  but   I  have  heard  she  was  a  ballet- 
dancer,  or  opera-singer,  or  something  cf  that 
sort." 

"  All  wrong !"  «a:d  a  voice  at  his  elbow. 
And  there  stood  Lord  Henry  Lisle  slapping  his 
boots  with  a  rattan,  and  listening  languidly. 
"  I  know  the  whole  storv.  She  wa.i  a  French 
actress.  You've  seen  her  a  score  of  '.!"''»''. 
Don't  3*ou  remember  Mademoiselle  Vivia,  who 
took  all  London  by  storm  some  twelve  yearn 
ago  ?" 

"  Of  course,  I  do  !    Ah,  what  eyes  that  giri 
had  !      And  then  she  disappeared  so  niysteri' 
ously,  nobody  ever  knew  what  became  of  her." 
"I  know.     Cliffe  Shirley  married    her,  aiitl 
she  died,  as  you  have  said,  a  year  after.". 

Captain  Douglas  gave  an  intensely  long  whis- 
tle of  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  that  was  the  way  of  it,  then  ?  No  won' 
der  his  lady  mother  was  outrageous.  A  Clifft; 
marry  an  actress!" 

"Just  so!"  drawled  Lord  Lisle,  clapping  the 
dust  off  his  boots.  '*'  And  if  her  son  hadn't 
married  her,  her  brother  would!  Sir  Roland 
nearly  went  distracted  about  her." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  He  married  that  black- 
eyed  widow — that  Cousin  Cliarlotte  of  his,  with 
the  little  boy,  in  half  a  year  after." 

"  It's  true,  though  !  I  never  saw  one  half  so 
frantically  in  love  ;  and  he  hasn't  forgotten  her 
yet,  as  you  may  see  by  his  naming  his  blacc 
mare  after  her." 


Captain  Douglas 


laughed. 


\ 


c 


14 


FNM ASKED;  OP. 


•'  And  is  it  for  the  same  reason  you  have 
named  your  red  road  steed  after  Ladv  Agnes — 
eb,  Lisle?" 

Lord  Lisle  actually  blushed.  Everybody 
knew  bow  infatuated  tlio  insipid  youny  (-eer 
was  about  the  haughty  lady  of  Castle  Cliff«, 
who  might  have  been  liis  mother;  and  every- 
body laughed  at  him,  except  the  lady  herself, 
Who,  in  an  uplifted  sort  of  way,  was  spKndidly 
and  serenely  scornful. 

"  Lovely  creature  I"  lisped  the  Ensign.  "  An^ 
those  ponies  are  worth  a  thousand  guineas  if 
they're  worth  one." 

"  How  much  ?  Where  is  she  ?  Is  she  here  ?'' 
cried  Lord  Lisle,  who  was  mentally  and  physi- 
cally rather  obtuse,  staring  around  him.  "Oii, 
I  see  her !  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I  must  pay 
my  respects." 

Oflf  went  Lord  Lisle  like  a  bolt  from  a  bow. 
The  officers  looked  at  eacli  other  and  lauehed. 

"  Now.  you'll  see  the  grandly -disdainful  re- 
ception he'll  get,"  said  Captain  Douglas.  "  The 
queenly  descendant  of  the  Cliffes  (reats  the  late- 
ly-fledged lordling  as  if  he  were  her  fooiboy ; 
and  probably  his  grandfather  shoed  her  grand- 
father's horses." 

The  whole  group  were  looking  toward  the 
glittering  filo  of  carriages,  drawu  up  near  the 
end  of  which  was  an  exquisite  phaeton,  drawn 
by  two  beautifully-matched  ponies  of  creamy 
wliiteness.  The  pheaton  had  three  occupmits  — 
a  lady  lool;ing  still  young  and  still  beAutiful. 
and  eminently  distinguished,  dressed  in  flowing 
robes  of  black  barege,  with  ii  large  lace  shawl, 
gracefully  worn  more  Jiite  drapery  than  a  shawl, 
half  slipping  off  one  shoulder,  daintily  gloved 
in  black  kid,  and  wearing  a  black  tulle  bonnet, 
contrasting  exquisitely  with  the  pearly  fairness  of 
the  proud  face,  and  shining  bandoaux  of  flaxt-n 
hair.  In  those  flaxen  btndeuux  not  one  gray 
hair  was  visible  ;  and  leaning  back  with  lan- 
guid liaui.eur,  she  looked  a  proud,  indcient,  ele- 
gant^  woman  of  the  world,  but  not  a  widow 
wearing  icouniing  for  her  only  son.  Lady  Ag- 
Bes  Shirley  might  have  felt — widows  with  only 
sons  mostly  do — but  certainly  the  world  knew 
nothing  of  it.  Her  heart  might,  breait  ;  but 
she  was  one  who  could  suffer  and  make  no 
sign. 

Sitting  beside  hor  and  holding  the  reins, 
pointing  everything  out  to  her  with  vivid  ani- 
tuiition,  talking  witti  the  greatest  volubility,  and 
gesticulating  with  the  utmost  earnestness,  was  a 
tall,  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  good-looking  young 
giant,  who,  although  only  sixteen,  was  six  feet 
high,  and  told  iiis  friemls  he  wasn't  half  done 
growing  yet.  He  was  Tom  Shirley,  an  orphan, 
the  son  of  Lady  Agnes's  late  husband's  young- 
est brother,  now  resident  at  Castle  Cliffe,  and 
senior  boy  in  the  College  School  of  Cliftonlea. 
And  that  was  Master  Tom's  whole  past  histo- 
ry, except  that  he  was  the  best-natured,  impet- 
tious,  fiery,  rough,  kind-be.  rted  young  giaitt, 


whose  loud  voice  and  long  strides  brought  np' 
roar  everywhere  he  went. 

There  was  a  third  figure  in  the  back  soat — u 
small  girl  who  looked  len,  and  who  wus  in  real- 
ity fifteen  years  old — Miss  Margaret  Sinrlev, 
the  daughter  of  Doctor  Shirley's  second  brother 
— like  Tom,  an  orphan,  and  dep'  inlent  on  her 
aunt-  Siie  was  dressed  in  bright  rose  silk,  wore 
a  pretty  summer-hat  trimmed  wi'.h  rose  rib- 
bons; but  the  bright  colors  of  robe  and  cha- 
peau  contrasted  harshly  with  her  dark,  pale 
face.  It  was  a  wan,  sickly,  solemn,  unsmiling 
little  visage  as  ever  child  wore  ;  with  large,  hol- 
low gray  eyes,  neither  bright  nor  expressive ; 
sharp,  pinched  features,  and  altogether  an  in- 
explicably cowed  and  subdued  look,  iier  hair 
WJ.8  pretty — the  only  pretty  thing  about  her— 
dark,  and  thick,  and  curly,  as  all  the  Sliirieys 
were  ;  but  it  could  not  relieve  the  soU  mri,  sal- 
low face,  the  pinched,  angular  Hgure,  and  ev- 
erybody wondered  what  Lady  Agnes  could  see 
in  I  hat  fairy  changeling ;  and  shrugged  their 
shoulders  to  think  that  she  should  reign  in  Cas- 
tle Glifle,  whose  mistresses  had  always  been  the 
country's  boast  for  their  beauty. 

The  knot  of  officers  watching  Lord  Lisle  had 
ail  their  expectations  realized.  His  profound 
bow  received  only  the  slightest  and  coldest  an- 
swi'ring  bend  of  the  haughty  head.  Then  Tom 
Sliirjey  jumped  from  the  carriage,  and  diggint; 
his  elbows  into  everybody's  ribs  who  came  in  his 
way,  lore  like  a  fiery  meteor  through  the  crowd. 
And  then  tlie  horses  were  starting,  and  the  «fli 
cers  had  no  time  to  think  of  anything  else.  F<>r 
soiie  time,  Yiviaand  Lady  Agnes  kept  neck  and 
neck.  The  excitement  and  betting  were  im- 
mense. Captain  Douglas  doubled  his  wager— 
Vivia  gets  ahead — a  shout  arises — she  keeps 
ahead — La<ly  Agnes  is  dead  beat!  and  Viv;a, 
amid  a  trenaendous  cheer,  comes  triumphantly 
in  the  winner. 

*'  That's  three  thousand  pounds  in  my  ;.-<5k 
et!"  said    Captain  Douglas,   coolly.      "Hallo, 
Shirley!    Wnat's  the  row?" 

For  Tom  Shirley  was  tearing  along,  very  red 
in  the  face,  his  elbows  in  the  ribs  of  society^  and 
looking  as  much  like  a  distracted  meteor  as 
ever.  He  halted  in  a  high  state  of  excitement 
at  the  captain's  salute. 

"  The  most  glorious  sight  I  Such  a  girl ! 
You  ought  to  see  her  I  Slie's  positively  stun- 
ning!" 

"  Who's  stunning,  Tom?  Don't  be  in  .i  hur- 
ry to  answer.     Youre  completely  blown." 

"I'll  be  blown  again,  then,  if  f  stop  talking 
here  I  If  you  want  to  see  her,  come  along,  and 
look  for  yourself." 

"I'm  your  man!"  sail  the  Captain,  thrust- 
ing his  arm  through  Tom's,  and  sticking  his 
other  elbow,  after  that  spirited  you'ig  gentle- 
man's fashion,  into  the  siaes  of  everybody  who 
opposed  him.  "  And  now  relieve  my  curiosity 
liite  a  good  fellow,  as  we  go  along." 


"Oh,  it'i 
*'  Make  has 
sight  to  see 

" Is  she  p 

"A  regul 
way,  you  o 
the  middle 

This  last 
gentleman, 
ing,  and  mo 
tleman  and 
of  this  huD 
found  them 
around  whi( 
young  and 
fifty  feet  hii 
this  tent,  ai 
down  to  the 
a  bright  ui 
keeping  th< 
band  of  mo 
ments  in  tl 
"British  G 
beating  a  v< 
that  when  t 
•8  people  ^^ 

"How  ar 
the  tent,  if  i 
it" 

"  Oh,  she 
"  she  is  goin 
imen  of  he 
dizzy  top  o 
mazurka,  or 
sort,  on  the 
her,  just  loo 
The  Capt 
were  huge  p 
in  every  oo 
ran  might  n 
ers  vfs  somi 


The  Pet  and 
ity,  and  Gentr; 

Come  one ! 
The  Infant  V< 

Admit 

By  the  tir 
of  this  absc 
muring  and  f 
him  that  the 
in  the  oute: 
rush — the  m 
batons  dang 
public.  Tbei 
IS  she?"  ' 
see  her!" 
log  out  of 
Infant  Venui 
not  an  opti< 
satisfied.     A 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CaSTLE  CLIFPE. 


16 


brought  up 

mok  8«iat — u| 
wild  in  I'i'iil- 
irct  8airley,| 
uuiiil  bi'utlier 
iiiieiit  un  herl 
use  bill<i  worel 
if-U  rose  rib- 
•be  and  clia- 
\r  dark,  (mlel 

D,    UIlStUlliDg| 

ith  large,  hoi- 
•  exprc-saive;] 
pettier  uu  in- 
k.    Uer  liairl 
about  her — I 
the  Sliirleya| 
I  BoKiuri,  sal- 
gure,  and  ev- 
ites  could  8C'e 
irugged  their 
I  reign  in  Cas- 
ivaya  bceu  tbtil 

ord  Lisle  hail  I 
His  profound  I 
id  coldest  an- 
.     Then  Tom  I 
e,  and  diggini; 
10  came  in  liisj 
igh  the  crowd. 
,  and  the  offi 
ling  else.   Foil 
kept  neck  and 
ing  were    ini- 
l  his  wager— I 
s — she  keeps 
!  and  Viv.a,! 
triumphantly  I 

in  my  /-ck 
lly.      '•  Hallo, 

ong,  very  red 

f  society^  and 

ed   meteor  as  I 

of  excitement 

Swch  a   girl! I 
jsitively  stun- 

't  be  in  .i  hur-| 

blown." 

stop  tfiikiiig  I 
me  along,  and  | 

nptain,  thrust- 
^   sticking  Ids  | 
you'ig  gentle- 
very  body  wiio  I 
e  my  curiosity 


"Oh,  it's  a  tight-rope  dancer!"  said  Tom. 
"  Make  haste,  or  you  won't  see  her,  and  it's  a 
eight  to  see,  I  tell  you  !" 

"Is she  pretty,  Tom?" 

"  A  regular  trump  !"  said  Tom.  "  Get  out  of 
way,  you  old  kangaroo,  or  I'll  pitch  you  into 
the  middle  of  next  week." 

This  last  apostrophe  was  addressed  to  a  stout 
gentleman,  who  came  along  panting,  and  snort- 
ing, and  mopping  hio  face.  And  as  the  old  gen- 
tleman and  ev'-rybody  else  got  out  of  the  way 
of  this  human  whirlwind  in  horror,  they  soon 
found  themselves  before  a  large  canvas  tent, 
around  which  an  iuimense  concourse  of  people, 
young  and  old,  were  gathered.  A  great  pole, 
fifty  feet  high,  stuck  up  through  the  middle  of 
this  teut,  and  a  thick  wire-rope  came  slanting 
down  to  the  ground.  Two  or  three  big  men,  in 
a  bright  muform  of  scarlet  and  yellow,  were 
keeping  the  multitude  away  from  this,  and  a 
band  of  modern  troubadours,  with  brass  instru- 
ments in  tlieir  mouths,  were  discoursing  the 
"British  Grenadiers".  A  very  little  boy  was 
beating  a  very  big  drum  in  u  very  large  way,io 
that  when  the  Captain  spoke,  he  had  to  shout 
IS  people  do  through  an  ear-trumpet. 

"How  are  we  to  get  through  this  crowd  to 
the  tent,  if  the  damsel  you  speak  of  is  within 
it" 

"Oh,  she'll  be  out  presently!"  said  Tom; 
"  she  is  going  to  give  the  common  herd  a  spec- 
imen of  her  powers,  by  climbing  up  to  the 
dizzy  top  of  that  pole,  and  dancing  the  polka 
mazurka,  or  an  Irish  jig,  or  something  or  that 
sort,  on  the  top.  And  while  we  are  waiting  for 
her,  just  look  here  I" 

The  Captain  looked.  On  every  hand  there 
were  linge  placards,  with  letters  three  feet  long, 
in  every  color  of  the  rainbow,  so  that  he  who 
ran  might  read,  and  the  text  of  these  loud  post- 
ers v  fa  somewhat  in  this  fashion : 

"UNRIV4LED  ATTRACTION! 
Unprecedented  Inducement ! 
The  Infant  Vincs! 
The  Pet  and  Favorite  of  the  Royal  Family,  the  Nobil- 
ity, and  Gentry  of  England : 

Come  one !    Come  all !  ' 
The  Infant  Venus !    The  Infant  Venus ! !    The  Infant 
Venus '. ! ! 
Admission,  6d.  :  Ckildren,  half  price." 

By  the  time  the  Captain  had  pot  to  the  end 
of  this  absorbing  piece  of  literature,  a  mur- 
muring and  swaying  motion  of  the  crowd,  told 
him  that  the  Infant  Venus  herself  had  appeared 
in  the  outer  world.  There  was  a  suppressed 
rush— the  men  in  scarlet  jackets  fleurislied  their 
batons  dangerously  near  the  noses  of  the  dear 
public.  There  was  an  excited  murmur:  "  Where 
IS  she?"  "  What  is  she  like  ?"  "  Oh,  I  can't 
see  her !"  And  everybody's  eyes  were  start- 
ing out  of  their  head  to  make  sun  that  the 
Infant  Venus  was  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  and 
not  an  optical  illusion.  But  soon  they  were 
satisfied.     A  glittering  figure,  sparkling  and 


shining  like  the  sunlight  from  head  to  foot, 
bearing  the  Union  Jack  of  Old   England   in 
either  band,  went  fluttering  up  this  slender 
wire.    The  crowd  held   its  t)reath,  the   music 
changed  to  a  quick,  wild  measure,  and  the  beau 
tiful  vision  floated  up  in  the  sunshine,  keeping 
time  to  the  exciting  strain.     It  was  tlie  light, 
slender  figure  ot  a  girl  of  thirteen  or  fourteen, 
with  the  Tittle  tapering  feet  gleaming  in  span- 
gled shppers  of  white  satin,  the  slight  form  ar- 
rayed in  a  short  white  gossamer  skirt  reaching 
to  the  knee  ;  and,  like  the  slippers,  all  over  sil- 
ver spanglee.     Down  over  the  bare  white  shoul- 
ders   waved   such    a    glorious  fall    of   iroldeu 
bronze  hair,  half  waves,  half  curls,  such  as  few 
children    ever  bad   before ;    and  the  shining 
tresses  were  crowned  with  ivy  leaves  and  white 
roses.    The  face  was  as  beautiful  as  the  hair, 
but  instead  of  the   blue    or   brown  eyes  that 
should  have  gone  with  it,  thev  were  of  intensest 
black,  and  vailed  by  sweeping  lashes   of  the 
same  color.     The    music    arose,  quicker  and 
faster,  the  silvery  vision,  scintillating  and  shin- 
ing, flashed  up,  and  up,  and  up,  with  her  wav- 
ing flags,  till  she  looked  like  a  bright,  wliit« 
speck  against  the  blue  summer  sky,  and  the 
lookers-on   hushed   the  very  beating  of  their 
hearts.     One  false   step— one  dizzy  turn,  and 
that  white  14 -ck  will  cover  a  bleeding  and  man- 
gled little  form,  and  the  bronze  hair  will  be 
crimson  in  blood.     But  she  is  at  tlie  top  ;  she 
is  looking  down  upon  them,  she  waves  her  flags 
triumphant  in  her  eagle  eyrie,  and  a  mighty 
cheer  goes  up  from  a  hundred  throats,  that 
makes  the  whole  plain  ring.    And  now  the  mu- 
sic changes  again;  it  grows  slower,  '".nd  the 
fairy  in  silver  spangles  hegins  to  descend.    If 
she  should  miss,  even  now !  but  no,  she  is  on 
the  ground  even  before  tliey  can  realize  it,  and 
then   there  is  another  shout  louder  than  the 
first ;  the  bnnd  strikes  up  an  "  lo  Triomphe", 
and  Tom  and  ^he  Captain  take  off  their  own 
hats,  and  cheered  louder  than  any  of  the  rest. 
And  the  brave  little  beauty  bows  right  and  left, 
and  vanishes  like  any  other  fairy,  and  is  seen 
no  more. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she  was  stunning  !"  cried 
Tom,  exultingiy. 

"  Tom,  you're  an  oracle  I    Is  she  going  to  do 
anything  within  ?" 


Lots  of  things — look  at  that  rush 


»«♦ 


There  was  a  rush,  sure  enough.  The  doors 
had  been  opened,  and  everybody  was  scram- 
bling in  pell-mell.  Sixpences  and  threepences 
were  flying  about  like  hail-stones  in  a  March 
storm,  and  women  and  children  were  getting 
torn  and  "  squeezed  to  death". 

Tom  and  the  Captain  fought  their  way 
through  with  the  rest.  Two  people  were  taking 
money  at  the  door,  in  which  they  entered— a 
man  and  woman.  They  paid  their  sixpences, 
made  a  rush  for  a  seat,  and  took  it  in  triumph. 
Still  the  crowd  poured  in— it  might  have  been 


C 


10 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


the  bcAuty  of  thd  girl,  her  dizzying  walk  ap  the 
wire-rupe,  or  the  rumor  uf  her  dancing,  that 
brou^lit  them,   but  oertaiulj  the  canvas  tent 
was  filled  from  its  sawdust  pit  to  its  tented  roof. 
They  were  not  kept  long  waiting  for  the  rising 
of  the  curtain,  either— the  same  thing  was  to  be 
played  at  least  half  a  dozen    times  thut  diiv,  so 
the  moments  were   precious  ;  and  the  solemn 
green  curtain  went  up  in  ten  minutes,  and  the.v 
saw  the  youthiul  Venus  rise  up  from  the  sea- 
foam,  with  her  beautiful  hair   unbound,  and 
floating  around   her,   her   white    robes    trail- 
ing  in   the    brine,    and    King     Neptune   and 
Queen  Amphitrite,  and    their  Mermaid  court, 
and  the  Graces  and  attendant  Sylphs,  all  around 
her.     The  scene  was  all  sea  and    moonlight ; 
and  she  floated,  in    her   white    dress,   across 
the  moonlit  stage,  like  a  fairy  in  a  maeio  ring. 
The  tent  shook  with  the  applause  ;  ana  nobody 
ever  danced  in  trailing  robes  as  she  did  then. 
Tiie  contest  for  the  crown  of  beauty  arose — 
Juno,  MinervA,  and  Venus  were  all  there  ;  and 
so  was  the  arbiter  and  judge.    Venus,  says  leg- 
endary lore,  bore  away  the  palm,  as  much  on 
account  of  tier  scanty  drapery  as  her  unparal- 
leled loveliness.    The  Venus  standing  before 
them  there  was  scantily  enough  draped,  Heaven 
knows!   the  dainty  and   uncoverea   neck   and 
arms  whiter  than  her  dress,  one  as  short  a?  the 
heart  of  any  ballet-dancer  could  desire ;  nnd 
oh  !  what  another  storm  of  applause  there  was 
when  Paris  gave  her  the  gold  apple,  and  Juno 
and  Minerva  danced  a  pas  de  deux  of  exaspera- 
tion, and  she  floated  round  them  like  a  spirit  in 
a  dreamt    And  then  she  bowed  and  smiled 
at  the  audience,  and  kissed  her  finger-tips  to 
them,  and  vanished  behind  the  green  curtain  ; 
and  then  it  was  all  over,  and  everybody  was 
pouring  out  in  ecstasies  of  delight : 

"Isn't  she  splendid?"  cried  Tom,  in  tran- 
sport. "  She  beats  the  ballet-dancers  I  saw 
when  I  was  in  London,  all  to  sticks.  And  then 
she  is  as  good  looking  as  an  enchanted  princoss 
in  th«  '  Arabian  Nights' !" 

"  My  dear  Tom,  moderate  your  transports.     I 
wonder  if  there's  any  way  of  finding  out  any- 
tliing  more  about  her?    I  must  confess  to  feel- 
ing a  trifle  interested  in  her  myself." 
"  Let  us  ask  the  old  oodger  at  the  door." 
"  Agreed." 

The  twain  made  their  way  to  the  door,  where 
the  old  codger,  as  Tom  styled  the  black-browed, 
sullen-looking  man  who  had  taken  tlie  money, 
stood  counting  over  his  gains  with  his  female 
companion — a  little,  stooping,  sharp-eyed,  vix- 
enish-looking old  woman.  The  man  looked  up 
as  Captain  Douglas  lightly  touched  him  on  the 
shoulaer. 

"  See  here,  my  friend,  that  is  a  very  pretty 
little  cirl  you  have  there !" 

"  Olad  you  like  her  I"  said  the  man,  with  a 
sort  of  growl. 
"  I  thought  you  would  be.  What's  her  onme  f " 


"  Hop  name  ?  Can't  you  read  ?  Her  name 
is  ou^  there  on  them  bil^  t  Don't  yon  see  she 
is  the  Infant  Venus?" 

"  But  I  presume,  for  the  common  uses  of 
everyday  life,  she  has  another?  Come,  old 
fellow,  don't  be  disobliging — let's  hear  it." 

"  Not  as  I  know  on,"  growled  the  questioned 
one,  civilly. 

Tom,  combating  a  severe  mental  resolve  tu 
punch  his  head,  then  drew  out  a  sovereign  in- 
stead, and  flourished  it  before  his  ey^s : 

"  Look  here,  old  chap !  tell  us  all  about  her, 
and  I'll  give  you  this.*' 

'*  I'll  t»ll  you  !"  said  the  old  woman,  snapping 
with  vicious  eagerness  at  the  money.  "  She'^ 
his  daughter,  and  I'm  his  mother,  and  she's  my 

granddaughter  and  her  name's  Barbara  Black! 
ive  it  here !" 

Before  Tom  could  recover  his  breath,  jerked 
ont  of  him  by  the  volubility  with  which  this 
confession  was  poured  forth,  the  old  woman  had 
snatched  the  coin  out  of  his  hand,  and  was 
thrusting  it,  with  a  handful  of  silver,  into  her 
pocket,  when  a  pleasant  voice  behind  her  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Dear  little  Barbara,  the  prettiest  little  fairy 
that  ever  was  seen,  and  the  very  image  of  her 
charming  grandmother!" 

All  looked  at  the  speaker — a  gentleman  in  a 
canary  colored  waistcoat,  wenring  gold  studs 
and  breastpin,  a  gold  watch-chain  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  shimmering  gold  talismans  attached, 
a  lemon -colored  glove  on  one  hand,  and  a  great 
gold  ring  on  the  other,  with  a  yellow  searl  that 
reached  nearly  to  the  second  joint ;  a  saflFronlsh 
complexion,  and  yellow  hair,  that  seemed  to  en- 
circle his  head  like  a  glory — a  gflntleraan  who 
glittered  in  the  sunlight  almost  ns  much  as 
the  Infant  Venus  herself,  and  whose  cheerful 
face  wore  the  pleasantest  of  smiles— a  gentle- 
m-in  to  make  you  smile  from  sympathy  as  you 
looked  at  liira,  and  not  at  all  to  be  afraid  of; 
but  as  the  grandmother  of  the  Infant  Venus  had 
her  eyes  upon  him,  she  uttered  a  terrified 
scream,  dropped  the  handful  of  gold  and  silver, 
and  fled. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   PRODIGAL   ao>f 

"  Ah,  Sweet,  how  are  you  ?"  said  Tom,  nod- 
ding familiarly  to  the  new  comer.  "  What  the 
dickens  nils  the  old  girl  ?" 

"  A  hard  question  to  answer.  She  is  out  a 
little,  you  know"  (Mr.  Sweet  tipped  his  fcre- 
boad  significantly  with  his  forefinger,  and  looked 
at  the  mai:)— "  just  a  little  here  !" 

"  Can  we  speak  to  the  Infant  Venus?" asked 
Tom  of  the  old  oodger. 

"I  tell  you  what,  gents,"  was  the  angry  re- 
ply, "  I  want  you  three  to  clear  out  of  this ! 
rhere  are  other  ladies  and  gents  a  coming  in, 
and  I  can't  be  having  you  a  loitering  round 
h-re  all  day !    Come  I" 


"Quite 

way.    *♦  I 

for  you  I 

the  Majoi 

a  little  c 

Tom,  I  hi 

"All    1 

away  arm 

his  head  t 

you  old  bi 

precious  li 

or  I'll  bre 

With  w 

Captain  i 

looked  aft 

more  whe 

before  hir 

smile,  and 

"  Come 

"Oh  nc 

not  at  all ; 

found  thai 

old  lady  w 

"  You  w 

"My  dt 

that  unple 

and  I'm  su 

me  to  that 

think  you 

And  Mr. 

back. 

"  I'll  bre 
man,  snptc 
him,  and 
was  most 
another  mi 
The  two 
other — the 
fectly  serei 
in  a  calm, 
make  an 
Mr.  Sweet 
mostly  hid 
but  they 
man  with 
would  hav 
slowly  dro 
crouched 
ter. 

"  What 
his  customi 
mnn  what's 
wish  you 
coming  in, 
"  But  I 
Mr.  Sweet, 
deed,  until 
lady!  do 

Mutterin 
led  on  thi 
aside  the  ^ 
stage.    MrJ 
him  the  tef 


Her  name 
iron  see  she 

ion  uses  of 
Gome,   old 

itir  it." 
questioned 

1  resolve  fco 

overeigii  in- 

S^s: 

1  about  her, 

in,  suapping 
cy.  "  Sl»e*B 
ind  she's  my 
bara  Black! 

reath,  ierked 
I  which  this 
)  woman  had 
nd,  and  was 
ver,  into  her 
bind  her  e»- 

st  little  fairy 
image  of  her 

ntleman  in  a 
[   gold   studs 

with  a  pro- 
ins  attached, 
,  and  a  great 
[uw  searl  that 

a  saffronish 
eemed  to  en- 
n  tie  man  who 

ns  much  as 
ose  cheerful 
!8— a  gentle- 
pathy  as  you 
be  afraid  of; 
it  Venus  had 
a  terrified 
Id  and  silver, 


id  Tom,  nod- 
"  What  the 

She  is  put  a 
ped  his  fcre- 
er,  and  looked 

'"enus  ?"  asked 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIPPE. 


If 


I    I 


the  angiy  re- 

^  out  of  this! 

a  coming  in, 

ituring  round 


"  Quite  right,**  said  Mr.  Sweet,  in  his  pleasant 
way.  '*  Mr.  Tom,  1  heard  Lady  Agnes  asking 
for  you  a  short  time  ago.  Captain  Douglas, 
the  Major  told  me  to  say,  if  I  found  you,  he  had 
n  little  commission  fur  you  to  execute.  Mr. 
Tom,  I  believe  her  ladyship  wishes  to  go  home." 

'*  AH  right  I"  said  Tom,  boyishly,  moving 
away  arm-in-arm  with  the  Captain  ;  and  turning 
bis  head  as  went :  "  Give  my  love  to  Barbara, 
you  old  bear,  and  don't  let  her  be  risking  her 
precious  little  neck  climbing  up  that  horrid  wire, 
or  I'll  break  your  head  for  you  !     Vale  /" 

With  which  gentle  valedictory  Tom  and  the 
Captain  moved  away ;  and  tlie  doorkeeper 
looked  after  them  with  a  growl ;  but  he  growled 
more  when  he  found  Mr.  Sweet  standing  still 
before  him,  gazing  up  in  his  face  with  a  soft 
smile,  and  showing  no  signs  of  moving. 

"Gome  !  get  out  of  this!"  he  began,  grufflv. 

"  Oh  no !"  said  Mr.  Sweet.  "By  no  means  ; 
not  at  all ;  not  yet.  'Tis  just  the  hour.  Moore 
found  that  out,  you  know.  I  want  to  see  the 
old  lady  who  ran  away." 

"  You  will  want  it  then  !    Be  off,  I  tell  you !" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  don't  raise  your  voice  in 
that  unpleasant  manner.  People  will  hear  you, 
and  I'm  sure  you  would  reget  it  after.  Do  lead 
me  to  that  dear  old  lady  again — ^your  mother,  I 
think  you  said." 

And  Mr.  Sweet  patted  him  soothingly  on  the 
back. 

"  I'll  break  your  neck  !"  cried  the  exasperated 
man,  snetching  up  a  cudgel  that  stood  besi*  ^ 
him,  and  flourishing  it  in  a  way  thrt  showed  he 
was  most  u  -oleasantly  in  earnest,  '■  if  you  stay 
another  minuu  here." 

The  two  men  were  looking  straight  at  each 
other — the  one  with  furious  eyes,  the  other,  per- 
fectly serene.  There  is  a  magnetism,  they  say, 
in  a  calm,  commanding  human  eye  tlint  can 
make  an  enraged  tiger  crouch  and  tremble. 
Mr.  Sweet's  eyes  were  very  small,  and  were 
mostly  hid  under  two  thick,  yellow  eyebrows  ; 
but  they  were  wonderful  eyes  for  all  that.  The 
man  with  the  stick  was  a  big,  stout  fellow,  who 
would  have  made  two  of  him  easily  ;  but  he 
slowly  dropped  his  stick  and  his  eyes,  and 
crouched  lilie  a  whipped  aouod  before  his  mas- 
ter. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded,  with 
his  customary  growl,  "  a  coming  and  bullying  a 
mnn  what's  been  and  done  nothing  to  you.  I 
wish  you  would  clear  out.  There's  customers  a 
coming  in,  and  you're  in  the  way  '' 

"  But  I  couldn't  think  of  sucti  a  thing,"  said 
Mr.  Sweet,  quite  laughing.  "  I  couldn't,  in- 
deed, until  I've  seen  the  old  lady.  Dear  old 
lady !  do  take  me  to  her,  ray  friend." 

Muttering  to  himself,  but  still  cowed,  the  man 
led  on  through  the  rows  of  benches,  pushed 
aside  the  green  onrtain,  and  jumoed  on  the  low 
stage.  Mr.  Sweet  followed,  and  .ntered  with 
him  the  temporary  green-room,  pausing  in  the 


doorway  to  survey  it.    A  horrible  place,  full  of 
litter,  and  dirt,  and  disorder,  and  painted   men 
and  women,  and  children,  and  noise,  and  racket, 
and  uproar.     There  was  a  row  of  little  lookiut^- 
glasses  stuck  all  round  the  wall,  and  some  of 
the  players  were  standing  before  them,  looking 
unutterably   ghastly    with   one   cheek   painted 
blooming  red,  and  the  other  of  a  grisly  white^ 
nesB.     And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  confusion, 
"  worse  confounded",  there  sat  the  Infant  Venus, 
looking  as  beautiful  off  the  stage  as  she  bad 
done  on  it,  and  needing  no  paint  or  tawdry  Hu- 
sel  to  make  her  so.    And  there,  crouching  down 
in  the  farthest  corner,  horribly  frightened,  ns 
every  feature  of  her  old  face  showed,  was  tlie 
dear  old  lady  they  were  in  search  of    The  noise 
ceased  iit  the  entrance  of  the  stranger,  and  all 
paused  in  their  manifold  occupations  to  stare, 
and  the  old  wom^n  crouclied  farther  away  in 
her  corner,  and  held  out  her  shaking  hands  as  if 
to  keep  him  off.     But  Mr.  Sweet,  in  his  benevo- 
lent designs,  was  not  one  to  be  so  easily  kept 
off;  ond  ne  went  over  aiud  patted  the  old  lady 
encouragingly  on  the  back,  us  he  bad  done  her 
son. 

"  My  good  old  soul,  don't  be  so  nervous ! 
There  is  no  earthly  reason  why  you  should 
tremble  and  look  like  this.  I  wouldn't  hurt  a 
fly,  I  wouldn't.  Do  compose  yourself,  and  tell 
me  what  is  the  matter." 

Tite  old  woman  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but 
her  teeth  chattered  in  her  head. 

"  You  said  you  were — you  said—" 

"Precisely!  That  wos  exactly  what  I  said, 
that  I  was  going  to  America ;  but  I  haven't 
gone,  you  see.  I  couldn't  leave  England,  I 
couldn't,  really.  '  England,  my  country,  great 
and  free,  heart  of  the  world,  I  leap  to  thee,' 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  What! 
you're  shaking  yet.  Oh  now.  really,  you  mustn't, 
it  quite  hurts  my  feelings  to  see  one  ot  your 
time  of  life  taking  on  in  this  faehion.  Permit 
me  to  help  you  up,  and  assist  you  to  a  chair. 
There  is  none — very  well,  this  candle-box  w.M 
do  beautifully." 

With  which  Mr.  Sweet  assisted  the  old  ladj 
to  iirise,  placed  her  on  the  box,  amid  the  won'- 
dering  company,  and  oiuiling  in  'jis  pleasant 
way  around  on  them  nil,  pursued  his  discourse. 

"  These  good  ladies  and  gentlemen  here  look 
surprised,  and  it  is  quite  natural  they  should  ; 
hut  T  can  assure  them  you  and  I  are  old  and 
tried  friends,  and  I  will  intrude  on  them  but  a 
few  mlautes  longer.  I  am  anxious  to  say  five 
words  In  private  to  your  son,  my  worthy  soul ! 
and  lest  his  naturally  prudent  nature  should  in- 
duce him  to  decline,  I  have  come  to  you  to  ob- 
tain your  maternal  persuasions  in  my  favor.  I 
will  step  to  the  door  and  wait,  but  I'm  sure  he 
will  listen  and  obey  the  words  of  a  tender 
mother. 

Humming  an  air  as  be  went,  Mr.  Sweet  walked 
out,  after  bowing  politely  to  the  company,  and 


C 

n\ 


18 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


waited  with  the  ntiioBt  patience  for  some  ten 
miiuitca  at  the  door.  At  the  end  of  that  period 
the  gentleman  waited  for  made  his  appearance, 
looking  sour,  suspicioua,  and  diaoontented.    Mr. 

,  S^eet  instantly  tooii  bis  arm  and  led  him  out.  in 

I  his  pleasant  way. 

"  Dear  old  fellow!  I  knew  yon  would  come — 

'  in  fact,  I  wna  perfectly  sure  of  it.  About  fifty 
yarda.from  thm  plnoe  there  ia  n  elump  of  birch 
trees,  ore''ha'iging  a  hedge,  a  great  place  where 
nobody  ever  cornea.  Do  you  know  itf 
A  sulky  nod  was  the  answer. 
"  Very  well.  Have  the  goodneaa  to  precede 
me  there — people  might  aay  aometbing  if  they 
saw  ua  go  together.  I  have  a  very  intereatiug 
'little  story  to  tell  you,  which  will  not  bear  more 
than  one  listener,  nnd  that  dark  spot  ia  just  the 
place  to  tell  it  in.    Go  on  1" 

The  man  paused  for  one  moment  and  looked 
nt  him  in  mingled  suspicion  and  fear ;  but  Mr. 
Sweet  wna  pointing  ateadily  out.  And  muttering 
in  his  peculiar,  growling  tones,  like  those  of  a 
beaten  cur,  he  alunk  away  in  the  direction  indi- 
oatedi  The  distance  was  short ;  he  made  his 
way  through  the  crowd  and  soon  reached  the 
spot,  a  gloomy  place  with  white  birches,  costing 
long  cool  shodowa  over  the  hot  grnss,  in  an  ob- 
scure corner  of  the  grounds  where  nobody 
came.  There  was  an  old  stump  of  a  tree,  rot- 
ting under  the  fragrant  hawthorn  hedge  ;  the 
man  sat  down  on  it,  took  a  pi[)e  out  of  bis 
pocket,  lit  it,  and  began  to  smoke.  As  he  took 
the  first  whiff,  something  glistened  before  him 
in  the  sun,  and  raising  his  anllen  eyes,  they 
reated  on  the  smiling  visage  of  Mr.  Sweet. 

"  Ah,  that's  right !"  that  gentleman  began  in 
his  lively  way ;  "  make  yourself  perfectly  com- 
fortable, my  dear  Black — your  name  is  Black, 
is  not— Peter  Black,  eh  ?" 

Mr.  Black  nodded,  and  smoked  away  like  a 
volcano. 

"  Mine's  Sweet — Sylvester  Sweet,  solicitor  nt 
law,  and  agent  anc'  steward  of  the  estates  of 
Lady  Agnes  Shirley,  ol^Cnstle  Cliffe.  And 
now,  that  we  mutually  ka^  each  other,  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  pleased  to  iiave  me  proceed  to 
business  at  once." 

There  was  a  rustic  stile  in  the  hawthorn 
hedge  quite  close  to  where  Mr.  Black  sat.  Mr. 
Sweet  took  a  seat  upon  it,  and  looked  down  on 
him,  smiling  all  over. 

"  Perhaps  you're  surprised,  my  dear  Mr. 
Black,  that  I  should  know  you  as  if  you  were 
my  brother,  and  you  may  be  atill  farther  sur- 
prised when  you  hear  that  it  was  solely  and  ex- 
clusively on  you*  account  that  I  have  come  to 
these  race.  I  am  not  a  betting  man  ;  I  haven't 
the  slightest  interest  in  any  oif  these  horses ;  I 
don't  care  a  snap  who  wins  or  who  loaea,  and  I 
detect  crowds ;  but  I  wouldn't  have  stayed  away 
from  th''ae  races  for  a  thousand  pounds !  And 
all,  ray  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  jingling  bis 


watoh-seals  till  they  aeemcd  laughing  in  ohorns, 
"  all  becauae  I  knew  you  were  to  be  here." 

Mr.  Black,  smoking  away  in  grim  silence,  and 
looking  stolidly  before  him,  might  bavo  been 
deaf  and  dumb  for  all  the  interest  or  curiosity 
he  maniftated. 

"  You  appear  indifferent,  my  good  Black ; 
but  I  think  I  will  manage  to  interest  you  yet 
before  we  part.  I  liave  the  moat  charming 
little  atory  to  relate,  and  I  muat  go  back — let 
me  aee— eleven  yeara." 

Mr.  Black  gave  the  alii^hteBt  perceptible 
atart,  but  atill  he  neither  looked  up  nor  apoke. 

"  Some  fifteen  milea  north  of  London,"  said 
Mr.  Sweet,  playing  away  with  hia  watob-seals, 
"  there  ia  a  dirty  little  village  called  Worrel, 
and  in  this  village  there  lived,  eleven  years  ago, 
a  man  named  Jack  Wildman,  better  known  to 
hia  pothouae  companions  by  the  soubriquet  of 
Black  Jack." 

Mr.  Peter  Black  jumped  m  if  he  had  been 
shot,  and  the  pipe  dropped  from  bis  mouth,  and 
was  shivered  into  atoms  at  his  feet. 

"What  is  it?  Been  stung  by  a  wasp  or  a 
hornet  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Sweet,  kindly.  "  Those 
horrible  little  insects  are  in  swarms  around 
here  ;  but  sit  down,  my  good  Black  ;  sit  down, 
and  take  another  pipe — got  none  f  Well,  never 
mind.  This  Black  Jack  I  was  telling  you  of 
was  a  mason  by  trade,  earning  good  wages,  and 
living  very  comfortably  with  a  wife  and  one 
child,  a  little  girl ;  and  I  think  her  name  was 
Barbara.  Do  sit  down,  Mr.  Black ;  and  don't 
look  at  me  in  that  uncomfortably  atead&st  way 
— it's  not  polite  to  atare,  you  know  I" 

Mr.  Black  crouched  back  in  his  seat ;  but  hia 
hands  were  clenched  and  his  face  was  livid. 

"  This  man,  as  I  told  you«  was  getting  good 
wages,  and  was  doing  well ;  but  he  was  one  of 
those  discontented,  ungrateful  ours,  wh<>,  like  a 
spaniel,  required  to  be  whipped  and  kicked  to 
be  made  keep  his  place.  He  got  dissatisfied ; 
he  went  among  his  fellow-laborers,  and  stirred 
up  a  feeling  of  mutinous  revolt.  There  was  a 
strike,  and  to  their  great  amazement  and  dis- 
gust, their  masters  took  them  at  their  word, 
hired  other  workmen,  and  told  the  cross-grain* 
ed  dogs  to  beg  or  starve,  just  as  tiiey  pleased. 
They  grew  furious,  houses  were  set  on  fire,  the 
new  workmen  were  waylaid  and  beaten,  works 
were  demolished,  and  no  end  of  damage  done. 
But  it  did  not  last  long ;  the  law  has  a  long 
arm  and  a  strong  hand,  and  it  reached  tbe  dis- 
affected stone-masons  of  Worrel.  A  lot  ol 
them  were  taken  one  night  after  havint;  set  a 
bouse  on  fire,  and.  beaten  an  inoffensive  man  ta 
death ;  and  three  months  after,  the  whole  viU 
Ininous  gang  were  transported  fur  life  to  Ne^ 
South  Wales,  Allow  me  to  give  you  a  cigar, 
my  denr  Black ;  I  am  sure  you  can  listen  bettei; 
and  I  can  talk  better  whilst  smoking." 

There  was  a  strong  club,  with  an  il-on  head, 
that  aome  one  bad  dropped,  lying  near.    Mr. 


Black  plot 
with  a  fu; 
but  hia  COD 
hud  thrust 
drawn  out 

"Dear  c 
comes  of  a 
trigger !  i 
over  the  hi 
I  would  a  V 

Mr.  Swet 
an  ^olian 
seraphic, 
of  Mr.  Blac 
baffled  tige 
hedge,  and 
ed  Dy  feai 
human. 

"  Dear  b< 
keep  quiet  1 
Mr.  Wildmi 
founding  a 
land,  at  thi 
heard  of  h 
ago,  there 
known  quai 
Black— Pet 
got  up  wifj 
and  mousta 
that  his  owi 
him.    In  fa 
him    at  al 
search  and 
her  an  unes 
meeting 
known  wore 
justice  to  a 
son — and  si 
Sweet,  taki 
thumb,  an( 
sigh. 

Mr.  Pet< 
the  trunks 
like  those  o 
did  not  Be< 
mother  to 
then,  taste 
ashes  dainti 
it  between 
the  glaring 
Mr.  Pet« 
of  meeting 
the   late 
parted — let 
his  mothei 
charming 

Sopular  li 
[iaa  Barb) 
formed  he 
long  cruisi 
through  he 
him  as  tic 
wandering 


ti 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


It 


'    J 


in  ehonis, 
lere." 

ilcnoe,  and 
have  been 
If  curiosity 

od  Black  ; 

Bt  you  yet 
obarming 
back — let 

perceptible 
or  spoke. 
DdoD,"  said 
ratoh-seals, 
led  Worrel, 
1  years  ago, 
r  known  to 
abriquet  of 

e  had  been 
mouth,  and 

,  wasp  or  a 
^.  "  Those 
'ms  around 
: ;  sit  down. 
Well,  never 
ling  you  of 
I  wages,  and 
fe  And  one 
ir  name  was 
;  and  don't 
teadfast  way 
!" 

eat;  buthia 
as  livid. 
;etting  good 
I  was  one  of 

wlio,  like  a 
d  kicked  to 
dissatisfied  ; 

and  stirred 
There  was  a 
3nt  and  dis- 

tiieir  word, 

cross-grain* 
hey  pleased. 
;  on  fire,  the 
)t>aten,  works 
limage  done. 
V  has  a  long 
ihed  the  dis- 
A  lot  of 
havine  set  a 
nsive  man  to 
ie  whole  viU 
■  life  to  New 
you  a  cigar^ 

listen  bettei; 
ng." 

in  ii-on  head, 
g  near.    Mr. 


Black  picked  it  np,  nnd  B|>rang  to  bis  feet 
with  a  fu.'lous  face.  The  motion  was  quick, 
but  his  companion  had  maile  a  quicker  one  ;  bo 
bad  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket,  and 
drawn  out  something  that  clicked  sharply. 

"Dear  o!J  boy,  keep  cool!  No  good  ever 
comes  of  actine  on  impulse,  and  this  is  a  hair- 
trigger!  Sit  aown — do — and  throw  that  club 
over  the  bedg<:,  or  Til  blow  your  brains  out  as 
I  would  a  mad  dog's  !'* 

Mr.  Sweet's  voice  was  as  soft  as  the  notes  of 
an  ^olian  harp,  and  his  smile  was  perfectly 
seraphic.  But  his  pistol  was  within  five  inche^ 
of  Mr.  Black's  countenance ;  and  snarling  like  a 
baffled  tiger,  he  did  throw  the  club  over  the 
hedge,  and  slunk  back  with  a  fnce  so  distort- 
ed oy  fear  and  fury,  that  it  was  scarcely 
human. 

"  Dear  boy,  if  you  would  only  be  sensible  and 
keep  quiet  like  that ;  but  you  a'  <  so  impulsive  I 
Mr.  Wildman  was  transported,  and  is  probably 
founding  a  flourishing  colony  in  that  aclightful 
land,  at  this  present  moment,  or  nobody  ever 
heard  of  him  again.  But  some  five  mouths 
ago,  there  arrived  in  London,  from  some  un- 
known quarter,  a  e^ntleman  by  the  name  of 
Black — Peter  BlacK,  who  was  so  charmingly 
got  up  with  tlie  aid  of  a  wig,  false  whiskers, 
and  moustaches,  and  a  suit  of  sailor's  clothes, 
that  his  own  dear  mother  couldn't  have  known 
him.  In  fact,  that  venerable  lady  didn't  know 
him  at  all,  when  after  a  month's  diligent 
search  and  inquiry,  he  found  her  out,  and  paid 
her  an  unexpected  visit ;  but  it  was  a  delightful 
meeting.  Don't  ask  me  to  describe  it ;  no 
known  words  in  the  English  language  could  do 
justice  to  a  mother's  feelings  on  meeting  a  lost 
eon — and  such  a  son  !  Ah,  dear  me  !"  said  Mr. 
Sweet,  taking  his  cigar  between  his  finger  and 
thumb,  and  looking  down  at  it  with  a  pensive 
sigh. 

Mr.  Peter  Black,  crouching  down  between 
the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and  glaring  with  eyes 
like  those  of  a  furious  bull-dog  about  to  spring, 
did  not  seem  exactly  the  sort  of  son  for  any 
mother  to  swoon  with  delight  at  seeing ;  but 
then,  tastes  differ.  Mr.  Sweet  knocked  the 
ashes  daintily  off  the  end  of  his  cigar,  replaced 
it  between  his  lips,  looked  brightly  down  on 
the  glaring  eyes,  and  went  on. 

Mr.  Peter  Black,  when  the  first  transports 
of  meeting  were  over,  found  that  the  relict  of 
the  late  transported  Mr.  Wildman  had  de- 
parted— let  us  hope  to  a  better  land — and  that 
his  mother  had  adopted  Miss  Barbara,  then  a 
charming  young  lady  of  eleven,  and  the  most 

Kopular  little  tight-rope  dancer  in  London. 
[iss  Barbara  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Black,  in- 
formed he  wos  her  father,  just  returned  after  a 
long  cruise,  and  no  end  of  shipwrecks,  and 
through  her  influence,  a  place  was  procured  for 
him  as  ticket-porter  in  the  theatre.  It  was  a 
wandering  affair  that  same  theatre,  and  Mr. 


Black  and  his  charming  danghter  nnd  mother 
went  roving  with  it  over  the  country,  and  finol- 
ly  came  with  it  to  the  Clift^nlea  Itaces.  Sly  old 
fox!  how  you  ait  there  drinking  in  every  word 
—do  let  me  prevail  on  you  to  light  this  cigar." 
He  threw  a  fragrant  Havana  as  he  spoko 
from  his  cigar-case  ;  but  the  sly  old  fox  lot  it 
roll  on  the  grass  at  his  feet,  and  never  took  his 
savage  eyes  off  the  sunny  face  of  the  lawyer. 
His  face  was  so  frightfully  pale,  that  the  un- 
earthly glare  and  the  mat  of  coarse  black  hair, 
made  it  look  by  contrast  quite  dreadful. 

"  You  won't  have  it— well,  no  matter  ?  How 
do  you  like  my  story  ?" 

"  You  devil,"  said  Mr.  Black,  speaking  for 
the  first  time,  and  in  a  horrible  voice,  "  where 
did  yi)U  learn  my  story  ?" 

"  Your  story,  eh  ?  I  thought  you  would  find 
it  interesting.  No  matter  where  I  Jearnt  it,  I 
know  you,  Mr.  Peter  Black,  as  pat  as  my  prayers, 
and  I  intend  to  use  that  knowledge,  you  may 
take  your  oath  I  You  are  as  much  my  slave  as 
if  I  bought  you  in  the  Southern  States  of  Ameri- 
ca for  so  many  hundred  dollars ;  as  much  my 
dog  as  if  I  had  you  chained  and  kenneled  in 
my  yard  !  Don't  stir,  you  returned  transport, 
or  ril  shoot  you  where  you  stand." 

With  the  ferocious  eyes  blnzing,  and  the 
tiger-jaws  snarling,  Mr.  Black  erawled  in  spirit 
in  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the  calm-voiced,  yel> 
low  haired  lawyer." 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Black,  you  understand  why  I 
brought  you  here  to  tell  you  this  little  story ; 
and  as  you've  listened  to  it  with  exemplary  pa- 
tience, you  may  listen  now  to  the  sequel.  The 
first  thing  you  are  to  do  is,  to  quit  this  roving 
theatre,  you,  and  the  dear  old  lady,  and  the 
pretty  little  tight-rope  dancer.  You  can  remain 
with  them  to-day,  but  to-night  you  will  go  to  the 
Cliffe  farms,  the  three  of  you,  and  remain  there 
until  I  give  you  leave  to  quit.  Have  you  money 
enough  to  pay  for  lodgings  there  a  week?" 

Mr.  Black  uttered  some  guttural  sounds  by 
way  of  reply,  but  they  were  so  choked  in  his 
thr'>'».t  with  rage  and  terror  that  they  we4'e  un- 
distinguishable. 

Mr.  Sweet  jumped  down  and  patted  him  on 
the  shoulder  with  a  good-natured  laugh. 

"  Speak  out,  old  fellow  I     Yes  or  no." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  won't  go  secretly,  you  know.  Tell  the 
prof^rietor  of  the  affair  that  you  like  this  place, 
and  that  you  are  going  to  settle  down  and  take 
to  fishing  or  farmini; ;  that  you  don't  like  this 
vagabond  kind  of  life  for  ^'oUr  little  girl,  and  so 
on.  Go  to  the  Cliffe  Arms  to-night.  You'll 
have  no  trouble  in  getting  quarters  there,  and 
you  4nd  your  delightful  family  will  stay  till  I 
see  fit  to  visit  you  again.  You  will  do  this,  my 
dear  boy — won't  you  ?" 

"  You  know  I  must  1"  said  the  man,  with  a 
fiendish  scowl,  and  his  fingers  convulsively 
working,  as  if  be  would  have  liked  ta  spring  on 


c 


90 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


tlie  pleMaut  lawyer  and  tear  him   limb  from 
limb. 

"  Oh  yiy<,  I  know  it  I"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  and  I  liuow,  too,  that  if  you  ahoul.i  at- 
tempt to  pluy  any  triol(8  on  me,  thiit  I  will  buve 
you  swinging  by  the  neck  from  the  Old  Bailey 
BIX  months  after.  But  you  needn't  be  afraid.  I 
don't  mean  to  do  you  any  harm.  On  the  con- 
trary, if  you  only  follow  my  diruotious,  you  will 
find  me  the  beat  friend  you  ever  bud.     Now, 

go-" 

Mr.  Black  rose  up,  and  turned  away,  but  be- 
fore he  bad  gone  two  yai'ds  be  was  back 
again. 

'What  do  you  want?  What  does  all  this 
mean?"  he  asked,  in  a  husky  whisper. 

"  Never  you  mind  that,  but  take  yourself  off. 
I  am  done  with  you  for  the  present.  Time  tells 
everything,  and  time  will  tell  what  I  want  with 
you.     Off  with  you  !" 

Mr.  Bliiok  turned  again,  and  this  time  walked 
steadily  out  of  sight ;  and  when  lie  was  entirely 
gone,  Mr.  Sweet  broke  into  a  musical  laugh, 
threw  his  smoked-out  cigar  over  the  hedge, 
thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  went  away 
whistling  : 

"  My  lore  is  but  a  lassie  yet." 

But  if  the  steward  and  agent  of  Lady  Agnes 
Shirley  had  given  the  father  of  the  Infant  Ve- 
nus a  most  |)leasant  surprise,  there  was  another 
surprise  in  reserve  for  himselt' — whether  pleasant 
or  not,  is  an  unanswerable  question.  He  was 
making  his  way  through  the  crowd,  lifting  bis 
bat  and  nodding  and  smiling  .right  and  left, 
when  a  hearty  slap  on  the  shoulder  from  behind 
made  him  turn  quickly,  as  an  equally-bearty 
voice  exclaimed : 

"  Sweet,  old  fellow,  bow  goes  it?" 

A  tall  gentleman,  seemingly  about  thirty, 
with  an  unmistakably  military  air  about  bim, 
although  dressed  in  civilian  costume,  stood  be- 
fore him.  Something  in  the  peculiarly  erect, 
upright  carriage,  in  the  laughing,  blue  eyes,  in 
the  fair,  curly  hair  and  characteristic  features, 
were  familiar,  bu(<  the  thick,  soldier's  mustache 
and  suiibrowned  skin  puzzled  him.  Only  for  a 
moment,  though  ;  the  next,  be  had  started  back, 
with  an  exclamation  of: 

"  Lieutenant  Shirley !" 

"  Colonel  Shirley,  if  you  please.  Do  you 
suppose  I  have  served  twelve  years  in  India  for 
nothing — do  you?  Don't  look  so  blanched, 
man.  I  am  not  a  ghost,  but  the  same  scape- 
grace you  used  to  lend  money  to  lang  syne. 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  I'll  show  you." 

Mr.  rfweet  held  out  his  hand,  and  rece'ved 
•uoh  a  bear's  grip  from  the  Indian  officer  that 
tears  of  pain  started  into  his  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,  Colonel ;  that  will  do,"  snid  the 

lawyer,  wincing,  but  in  an  overjoyed  tone  all  the 

:  same.     "  Who  could  have  looked  for  such  an 

unexpected  pleasure?     When  did  you  arrive?'' 

"  I  got  to  Southampton  last  night,  and  start- 


ed 'or  here  the  first  thing.  How  are  all  out 
people  ?  I  haven't  met  any  one  I  know,  save 
yourself;  but  they  told  me  in  Cliftonlea,  Lady 
Agnea  was  here." 

"  So  she  is.  Come  along,  and  Til  show  you 
where." 

With  a  face  radiant  with  delight  and  surprise, 
Mr.  Sweet  led  the  way,  and  Colonel  Shirley  'ol- 
luwed.  Many  of  the  faces  that  passed  were  fa- 
miliar, 1^  'aud's  among  thereat ;  but  the  In- 
dian hurrying  on,  slopped  to  speak  to  no 
one.  iu  file  of  carriages  soon  came  in  sight. 
Mr.  Sweet  pointed  out  the  pony  phaeton  ;  and 
his  companion,  the  next  instant,  was  measuring 
off  the  road  toward  it  in  great  strides.  Lady 
Agnes,  with  Tom  beside  her,  was  just  giving 
languiii  directions  about  driving  home,  when  a 
handsome  face,  bronzed  and  mustached,  was 
looking  smilingly  down  on  her,  a  hand  being 
held  out,  and  a  well-known  voice  exclaiming  : 

"  Mother,  I  have  come  home  agrin  1" 

CHAPTER  IV. 

KILIINO  THB   FATTED  OALr. 

It  is  a  vnlgai' thing  to  be  surprised  at  any- 
thing in  this  world.  Lady  Agnes  Shirley  was 
too  great  a  lady  to  do  anything  vulgar ;  so  the 
common  herd,  gathered  round  heard  only  one 
faint  cry,  and  saw  the  strange  gentleman's  hands 
wildly  grasping  both  the  great  lady's. 

"  Don't  frtint,  mother.  They  haven't  killed 
me  in  India,  and  it's  no  ghost,  but  your  good- 
for-nothing  son  Cliffe!" 

"  O  Clitfe  !— O  Clifife  !"  she  cried  out.  "  Is 
this  really  you?" 

"It  really  is,  and  come  home  for  good,  if  you 
will  let  me  stay.  Am  I  forgiven  yet,  moth- 
er?" 

•'  My  darling  boy,  it  is  I  who  must  be  forgiv- 
en, not  you.  How  those  odious  people  are  star- 
ing !  Tom,  jump  out,  and  go  away.  Cliffe,  for 
Heaven's  sake!  get  in  here  and  drive  out  of 
this,  or  I  shall  die  1  Oh,  what  a  surprise  this 
ia !" 

Master  Tom,  with  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his 
head,  with  astonishment  obeyed,  and  the  Indian 
officer  laughingly  took  his  place,  touched  the 
cream-colored  ponies  lightly,  and  off  they  start- 
ed, amid  a  surprised  stare  from  fifty  pairs  of 
eyes. 

"  O  Cliffe  !  I  cannot  realize  this.  When  did 
you  come  ?  "Where  have  you  been  ?  What 
have  you  been  doing?  Oh,  I  am  dreaming,  I 
think  I" 

*'  Nothing  of  the  kind,  ma  mere.  There  ia  not 
a  more  wide-awake  lady  in  England.  I  came 
here  an  hour  ago,  I  have  been  in  India  fighting 
my  country's  battles,  and  getting  made  a  colo- 
nel for  my  pains." 

"  My  brave  boy  !  And  it  is  twelve  years- 
twelve  long,  long  years  since  I  saw  yon  last ! 
Shall  I  ever  forget  that  miserable  morning  iu 
London  ?" 


••  Of  ooi 
gouus  be  I 
settle   don 

Senlleiiian 
o  things 

"  Exoeei 
the  world 
killed." 

"  Likely 
for  it  whe 
near  it  tlio 
o*'er  now, 
and  swore 
hind  ? 

"  You  r 
— well,  bo 
Wretched 
lowering  li 
ly.  "  But 
work-hous 
get  home  i 

The  two 
train  thro 
ddightful, 
two  imnici 
granite  ar 
thereon, 
man  who  < 
least,  as  n 
can  go  in 
and  the  \ 
with  gran( 
upward  c 
crossed  a 
have  half- 
reality  sp 
might  ba\ 
running  s 
line  of 
Past  this 
of  the  gr 
saw  that 
lake,  lyin 
and  with  a 
was  a  Swi 
and  child 
other,  a  I 
and  a  woi 
a  baby  in 
grant  arc 
frame, 
the  aveni 
windings, 
along  am 
deer  spoi 
steep  hill 
of  a  grar 
towers, 
end  of  pi 
and  quee 
flag  fly  in 
left,  thcr 
witli  a  hi 


'S 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


81 


r  are  all  oai 

know,  save 

toDlea,  Lady 

'11  show  you 

and  surprise, 
Shirley  'ol- 

ssod  were  fa- 
but  theln- 

o  speak  to  no 

me  in  sight. 

hnton  ;  and 

ks  measuring 
ides.  Lady 
just  giving 

r>me,  when  a 

itached,  was 
hand  being 

(olniraing  : 

in  I" 


,r. 

ined  at  any- 
Shirley  wns 
Igar;  so  the 
fird  only  one 
e man's  hands 

^'8. 

aven't  killed 
;  your  good- 


id  out. 


Is 


good,  if  you 
1  yet,  moth- 

ist  be  furgiv- 
ople  lire  star- 
7.  Cliffe,  for 
drive  out  of 
surprise  this 

ig  out  of  his 
id  the  Indian 
touched  the 
ff  they  start- 
ifty  pairs  of 

.     When  did 

een  ?     What 

dreaming,  I 

There  is  not 
nd.  I  came 
idia  fighting 
aade  a  colo- 

sire  years— 

iw  3'ou  last ! 

morning  iu 


"  Of  course,  you  will.  Why  not?  L«t  by- 
gones be  bygoiius,  as  the  Soots  suy,  and  I  slmll 
settle   down    lalu   tlio   most  contented  country 

Sentitiinati  you  ever  saw  at  Castle  Clitfo.     How 
o  things  uo  on  at  the  old  place  ?" 
"  Exceedingly  well. 


but, 


1  liav«  the  best  atjentin 
Cliffe,   wo    beard  you   were 


the   world, 
killed." 

"  Likely  enough  ;  but  you  may  take  ray  word 
for  it  when  I  toll  you  I  was  not.  I  was  very 
near  it  tUough,  more  than  once  ;  but  that's  all 
wer  now,  and  I'm  out  of  the  reach  of  bullets 
and  sword-cuts.  Who  is  the  young  lady  b«- 
hind  r 

"  You  remember  your^unole,  Edward  Shirley 
— well,  ho  is  dead,  and  that  is  his  daughter. 
Wretched  little  creature !""  said  Lady  Agnes, 
lowering  her  voice,  and  laughing  contemptuous- 
ly. "  But  I  took  her  to  lieep  her  out  of  the 
work-house  1  Drive  fast,  Cliffe  ;  I  am  dying  to 
get  home  and  h«;nr  everything." 

The  two  creamy  ponies  flashed  like  an  express- 
train  through  Cliltonlea,  and  along  through  ii 
deJightful,  wooded  road,  and  drew  up  before 
two  immense  iron  gates,  swinging  under  a  great 
granite  arch,  with  the  arms  of  Cliffe  carved 
thereon.  The  huge  gates  were  opened  by  a 
man  who  cnmc  out  of  an  Italian  cottage — or,  at 
least,  as  near  an  imitation  of  a  cottage  as  they 
can  go  in  Italy — and  which  was  the  gate-lodge, 
and  the  ponies  dashed  up  a  spacious  avenue, 
with  grand  cedars  of  Lebanon  on  cither  hand,  for 
upward  of  a  atinrter  of  a  mile.  Then  they 
crossed  a  great  white  bridge,  wide  enough  to 
have  half-spanned  1  ho  Mississippi,  and  which  in 
reality  spaimed  an  ambitious  little  stream  you 
might  have  waded  through  in  half  a  dozen  steps, 
running  sparkling  througn  the  green  turf  like  a 
line  of  light,  and  disappearing  among  the  trees. 
Past  this  the  avenue  ran  along  through  a  part 
of  the  grounds  less  densely  wooded,  and  you 
saw  that  the  rivulet  emptied  itself  into  a  wide 
lake,  Ijing  like  a  great  pearl  set  in  emeralds, 
and  with  a  miniature  island  in  the  centre.  There 
was  a  Swiss  farmhouse  on  the  island;  with  fowls, 
and  children,  and  dogs  scrambling  over  each 
other,  a  little  white  skiff  drawn  up  on  the  bank, 
and  b  woman  standing  in  the  rustic  porch,  with 
a  baby  \ii  her  arms,  aud  looking,  under  the  fra- 
grant arch  of  honeysuckles,  like  a  picture  in  a 
frame.  Tiien  the  plantation  grew  denser,  and 
the  avenue  lost  itself  in  countless  by-paths  and 
windings,  and  there  were  glimpses,  as  they  flew 
along  among  the  trees,  of  a  distant  park,  and 
deer  sporting  therein.  Once  they  drove  up  a 
steep  hillside,  and  on  the  top  there  was  a  view 
of  a  grand  old  houf>e  on  another  hillside,  with 
towers,  and  turrets,  and  many  gables,  and  no 
end  of  pinnacles,  and  stone  mullioned  windows, 
and  queer  chimneys,  and  a  great  cupola,  with  a 
flag  flying  on  the  top  ;  and  further  away  to  the 
left,  there  were  the  ruins  of  some  old  building, 
witl)  a  huge  stone  cross  pointing  up  to  the  blue 


•ky,  amidst  a  solemn  grove  of  yvw  trees  and 
gulduii  willows,  mingling  light  and  shadu  pleas* 
antlv  together.  AuJ  there  wore  b>-autiful  rose- 
gardens  to  the  ritfht,  with  bees  and  butterflies 
glauoiui;  around  them,  and  fountains  splaithing 
like  living  Jewels  here  and  there,  aud  hot-houses, 
and  graeu-houHes,  and  summer-houses,  and  bee- 
hives, and  a  |<erft'ot  forest  of  oingnifioent  horse- 
chestnuts.  And  further  away  still,  there  spread 
the  ceaseless  sea,  Hpurkling  as  if  sown  with  stars ; 
and  still  and  white  beneath  the  rock-*,  there  was 
the  fisherman's  village  of  Lower  Cliffe,  swelter- 
ing under  the  broiling  sea-side  sun.  Ob,  it  was 
a  wonderful  place,  was  Castle  Cliffe  I 

They  were  down  the  hill  in  a  moment,  and 
dashing  through  a  dark,  cool,  beech  wood.  A 
slender  gazelle  came  bounding  along,  and  lifting 
its  large,  tearful,  beautiful  eyes,  and  vanishing 
a^ain  in  affright,  and  Colonel  Shirley  unoovvreu 
his  head,  and  reverently  said  : 

"  It  is  ^o(  '  to  bo  homo  I" 

Two  minutes  later,  they  were  in  a  paved  court- 
yard. A  groom  came  and  led  away  the  horses 
looking  curiously  at  the  strange  gentleman,  who 
smiled,  and  followed  Lady  Agnes  up  a  flight  vi 
granite  steps,  and  into  a  spacious  portico.  \ 
massive  hall-door  of  oak  and  iron,  that  had  swung 
on  the  same  honest  hinges  in  the  days  of  the 
Tudor  Plantagcnots,  flew  back  to  admit  them, 
and  they  were  in  an  immense  hall,  carved,  and 
paneled,  and  pictured,  with  the  Cliffe  coat-of- 
arins  emblazoned  on  the  ceiling,  and  a  floor  of 
bright,  polislicd  oak,  slippery  as  glass.  Up  a 
great  'weoping  stair-case,  rich  in  busts  and 
ui'onzett — where  you  might  have  driven  a  coach 
and  four,  and  done  it  easy — into  another  hall,  aud 
at  lust  into  the  boudoir  of  Lady  Agnes  heiuelt' 
— a  very  modern  apartment,  indeed,  for  so  old  a 
house.  Brussels- carpeted,  damask-curtained, 
with  springy  couches,  and  eaay-chairs,  and 
ottomans,  aud  little  gems  of  modern  pictures 
looking  down  on  them  from  the  walls. 

"  It  is  good  to  be  home  I"  repeated  Colonel 
Shirley,  looking  round  him  with  a  little  satisfied 
smile,  ar  he  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  ;  "  but  this 
room  is  new  to  me." 

"  Oh !  I  left  the  Agnes  Tower  altogether — such 
a  dismal  place,  you  know,  and  full  of  rats  I  and 
I  had  the  suit  to  which  this  belongn  all  fitted 
up  last  year.  Are  you  hungry,  Cliffe  ?  You 
must  have  luncheon,  and  then  you  shall  tell  ire 
all  the  news." 

With  which  practical  remark  the  la-ij  rang, 
and  ordered  her  maid  to  take  off  her  things,  and 
send  up  lunch.  And  when  it  came,  the  traveler 
did  ample  justice  to  the  ebampagne  and  cold 
chicken,  and  answered  big  mamma's  questions 
between  the  mouthfuls. 

"  Oh,  there  is  very  little  to  tell,  after  all  I  You 
know  I  was  thrown  from  my  horse  that  morn- 
ing, after  I  left  you  at  the  hotel  in  London,  and 
it  was  three  weeks  before  I  was  able  to  go  about 
again.    And  then  I  got  a  note  from  Yivia"  (his 


C 


22 


UNMASKED ;  OR, 


■unnv  fnce  dnrVcned  for  a  motnenl),  "tellins 
me  n(i*)  wh«  ill — ilying !  She  waa  more — wbaii  I 
reaolitid  her,  I  found  h^r — deiktl  1" 

But  Lady  Akiics  wns  Bitting,  Tory  ooM,  and 

Sale,  and  upriglit,  in  her  ■uat.     What  wna  t.he 
eittli  of  a  French  actress  to  her  Y 

"  There  was  a  child — n  midge  of  a  crcrtture,  a 
week  old,  and  I  ](fft  it  with  the  good  iieuple  with 
whom  she  lodged,  and  set  sail  for  India  the  next 
morning,  a  despurate  mnn.  I  went  on  praying 
that  some  friendly  bullet  would  put  an  end  to  a 
miserahio  existence  ;  but  I  bore  a  charmed  life  ; 
and  while  my  comrades  fell  around  me  in  scores, 
I  scaled  ram  parts,  and  stormed  breaches,  and 
led  forlorn  hopes,  and  came  off  without  a  scratch. 
I  would  have  made  the  fortune  of  any  Life  As- 
surance Company  in  England!"  he  said,  with 
his  frnnk  laugli. 

"  And  the  child  ?"  said  Lady  Agnes,  intensely 
interested. 

"  Do  you  really  oare  to  know  anything  of 
her?" 

••  It  wns  a  daughter,  then  ?  Of  course  I  do, 
you  absurd  boy  I  If  she  lives,  she  is  the  heiress 
of  Castle  Cliffe  1" 

Colonel  Shirley  took  an  oyster-pate,  with  a 
little  malicious  smile. 

"  And  the  daughter  of  a  French  actress  I" 

•♦  She  is  my  son's  daughter  I"  said  Lady  Agnes, 
haughtily.  And,  with  a  slightly-flushing  oheek, 
said  :  "  Pmv,  go  on  !" 

"  I  sent  the  people  who  had  her,  money,  and 
received  in  return  semi-aiin"al  accounts  of  her 
health  for  the  first  sixyeai..  Then  tiiey  sent 
me  word  they  were  going  to  leave  England,  and 
emigrate  to  America,  and  told  me  to  come  and 
take  the  child,  or  send  word  what  they  would 
do  with  her.  I  wanted  to  see  old  England  ogain, 
anyway,  and  I  had  natural  feelings,  ns  well  as 
the  rest  of  mankind,  so  I  obtained  leave  of  ab- 
sence and  came  back  to  the  old  land.  Don't 
look  so  incredulous,  it  is  qtite  true!" 

**  And  you  never  came  to  see  me.     O  Cliffe  !" 

"  No  I"  said  Cliffe,  with  some  of  her  own  cold- 
ness. "I  had  not  quite  forgotten  a  certain 
scene  in  a  London  hotel,  at  that  time,  as  I  have 
now.  I  came  to  England,  and  saw  her  a  slender 
angel  in  pinafores  and  pantalettes,  and  I  took 
her  with  me,  and  left  her  in  a  French  convent, 
and  there  she  is  safe  and  well  to  this  day." 

Lady  Agnes  started  up  with  clasped  hands 
and  radiant  face. 

"  Oh,  delightful  1  And  a  descendont  of  mine 
will  inherit  Castle  Cliffe  after  all!  I  never 
could  bear  the  idea  of  leaving  it  to  Margaret 
Shirley.  Cliffe,  you  must  send  for  the  child, 
immediately  I" 

"  But  I  don't  think  she  is  a  child  now— she  is 
a  young-  lady  of  twelve  veara.  Perhaps  she  has 
taken  the  vail  befora  thfs !" 

"  Oh,  non0«nse  I    Have  yon  seen  her  einoe  ?'' 

"  No  ;  (he  Snperieure  and  I  have  kept  up  a 
yearly  corr«spond«Doe  oa  the  aubjeot,  and  th« 


young  peraon  lias  favoreii  in**  herself  with  a 
ualf-docen  gilt-edged,  cream- lail  little  French 
effusions,  b«ginnin(^,  'I  embrace,  my  deareet 
papa,  a  thousand  times',  and  ending,  '  with  the 
most  affectionate  sentiments,  your  devoted 
child  ' '  How  does  your  ladyship  like  the  style 
of  thatr* 

"  Cliffe  !  don't  be  absurd  !  You  are  just  the 
same  great  boy  you  were  twelve  years  ago! 
What  Is  her  name  !*" 

"  True  1  I  forgot  that  part  of  it  I  Her  good 
foster-mother  being  et  a  loss  for  a  nume,  took 
the  liberty  of  calling  her  after  Her  Most  Gracious 
Majesty  bcraelf,  and  when  I  brought  her  to  the 
convent  I  told  them  to  add  that  of  her  mother ; 
so  Miss  Sliirley  is  Victoria  Qencvieve." 

"  What  a  disgrace !  She  ought  to  have  been 
Agnes—all  the  Cliffcs  are.  But  it  is  too  late 
now.  Whom  does  she  re>>emblti,  us  or  — ," 
Her  ladyship  had  the  grace  to  pause. 

*'  Not  her  mother  I"  said  Colonel  Shirley,  with 

fyerfect  composure.  "She  hns  blue  eyes  and 
ight  hair,  and  is  not  bad-looking.  I  will  start 
for  Paris  to-morrow,  if  you  like,  and  bring  her 
home." 

•'  No,  no  !  I  cannot  part  with  you,  ofter  your 
twelve  years'  absence,  in  that  fashion!  I  will 
send  Mrs.  Wilder,  the  house-keeper,  and  Ro- 
berts, the  butler — you  remember  Roberts,  Cliffe, 
and  they  will  do,  excellently.  I  shall  not  lose 
a  moment,  I  am  fairly  dying  to  see  her,  so  vun 
must  write  a  letter  to  the  Superieuro  (O,  the  idea 
of  placing  my  granddaughter  in  a  convent .'), 
ami  Roberts  and  Mis.  Wilder  cuu  start  in  the 
afternoon  train." 

Lady  Agnes  could  be  energetic  when  she 
ohoae,  and  ink  and  paper  were  there  in  a  mo- 
ment. Cliffe  laughed  ut  hia  mother's  impetuos- 
ity, but  he  wrote  the  letter,  and  that  very  after^ 
noon,  sure  enough,  the  dignified  liousukocj)er, 
and  the  old  family  butler,  were  steaming  .away 
on  their  journey  to  Paris. 

There  had  not  been  such  a  sensation  in  Clif 
tonlea  for  years,  as  there  was  when  it  became 
known  that  the  lost  heir  hod  returned.  Every- 
body remembered  the  handsome,  laugliing,  f.iir- 
haired  boy,  who  used  to  dance  with  the  village- 
girls  on  the  green,  and  nat  the  children  in  the 
town-streets  on  the  heaa,  and  throw  them  pen- 
nies, and  about  whom  there  were  so  many 
romantic  stories  afloat.  Everybody  called,  and 
the  young  Colonel  rode  everywhere  to  see  his 
friends,  and  be  shaken  by  the  hand  ;  and  Lady 
Agnes  drove  with  him  through  Cliftonlea,  with 
a  flush  on  her  cheek,  and  a  light  in  her  ey« 
which  had  not  been  seen  there  for  many  a  day. 
And  at  the  end  of  the  first  week  there  was  a 
select  dinner-party  in  his  honor,  in  his  own 
ancestral  hall— a  very  select  dinner  party,  in- 
deed, where  no  one  was  present  but  his  own 
relatives  (all  Cliffes  and  Shirleys)  and  a  few 
very  old  personal  friends.  There  was  Sir  Ro- 
land, of  course,  who  bad  married  and  buried  the 


dark-eyed 
had  once  i 
now  stepfa 
curls  wu  I 
CliftonloH, 
tain  Doiigl 
Shirley,  u 
others — al 
It  wa.s  a  p' 
and  Colon 
ingly,  and 
ing  jackall 
Mmels,  an^ 
ia  black  v< 
And  the  1 
gorgeous  v 
gilding,  ai 
andbrilliai 
just  tellinii 
in  the  Pii 
every  day, 
lower  hall, 
to  see,  cair 
ment,  to  f 
turned,  an 
expected  i 
It  was  ii 
Castle  Cli 
there  at  lu 


Arnora< 
lively  euoi 
versation, 
to  run  out 
of  Cliffe  !: 
it  would 
did  it  exc 
etiquette  < 
might  wel 
a  case,  an^ 
of  an  anil 
and  sailed 
were  stani 
ing  stairci 
with  its  < 
crowd  of  I 
of  their  f 
and  right 
burners,  t 
Roberts,  i 
dently  Mi 
person  in 
doubtedly 
reached  t 
toward  tl 
Iner  ladys 
edit. 

"  Yes,  1 
and  here 

The  lit 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


9e 


Htilf  with  • 
iIm  Freiioh 
ny  (lenrect 
'  with  the 
r  devoted 
e  the  style 

ro  just  the 
mat*   agu ! 

Iler  good 
mime,  took 
stCirHoious 

Iter  to  th« 
ler  mother ; 
e." 

hare  beea 
is  too  late 
us  or  — ," 

hirley,  with 

e  eyes  and 

will  start 

bring  her 

I,  after  your 
on!  I  will 
r,  and  Ro- 
>ert8,  Gli£fe, 
ill  not  lose 
KT,  so  yon 
(O,  the  uleo 
convent  .')i 
start  in  the 

when  she 
re  in  a  nio- 
8  impetuos- 
vcry  aftor- 
uusokocj^er, 
ming  .awftj 

on  in  Clif 
I  it  became 
d.  Every- 
gliing,  f.iir- 
t.he  viliai^e- 
]ren  in  the 

them  pen- 
so  many 
onlled,  and 

to  see  his 
;  and  La<iy 
onlea,  with 
in  her  eye 
any  a  day. 
here  was  a 
n  his  own 

party,  in- 
It  his  own 
and  a  few 
'M  Sir  Ro- 
bnriod  the 


dark-eyed  oousin  Charlotte,  whom  Lndy  Agnes 
had  oMOO  wanted  her  son  to  wed,  and  who  was 
now  stepfather  to  the  little  boy  of  the  golden 
curls  wu  Hiiw  at  the  theatre.  The  Bishop  of 
Gliftonlei«,  also  a  relative,  was  there  ;  and  Cap- 
tain Douglas  was  there  ;  ami  Mmgaret  and  Tom 
Hliirley,  and  Lord  Liiile,  and  some  half  dozen 
otiierd — all  relatives  and  oonuexious,  of  oourse. 
It  wan  a  pi-rfeot  ehef  d'tzuore  of  a  dinner-party  ; 
and  Colonel  Shirley,  as  the  lion,  roared  amaz- 
ingly, and  told  them  wonderful  stories  of  hunt- 
ing jaokalls  and  tigers,  and  riding  elephants  and 
Oftmels,  and  shooting  natives.  And  Lady  Agnes, 
in  black  velvet  and  rubies,  looked  like  a  queen. 
And  the  blue  drawing-room,  after  dinner,  *"a9 
gorseous  with  illumination,  and  arabesque,  and 
gilding,  and  jewels,  and  perfumes,  and  mueio, 
and  brilliantcoMversatiun.  And  Lady  Agnes  was 
lust  telling  everybody  about  her  gran<laaughter 
In  the  Parisian  convent,  expected  home  now 
every  day,  when  there  was  a  great  bustle  in  the 
lower  hall,  and  Tom  Shirley,  who  had  been  out 
to  see,  came  rushing  in,  in  a  wild  state  of  excite 
ment,  to  say  that  Wilder  and  Iloborts  liad  re- 
turned, and  with  them  a  French  bonne,  and  the 
expected  young  lady  herself. 

It  was  indeed  true!  The  rightful  heiress  of 
Castle  Cliife  stood  within  the  halls  of  her  fa- 
thers at  last. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

HADSMOISELLK. 

A  moment  before,  the  drawing-room  had  been 
lively  enough  with  music,  and  laughter,  and  con- 
versation, and  everybody  felt  a  strong  impulse 
to  run  out  to  the  hall,  and  behold  the  daughter 
of  Cliffe  Shirley  and  the  French  actress.  But 
it  would  not  have  been  etiquette,  and  nobody 
did  it  except  Tom  Shirley,  who  never  minded 
etiquette  or  anything  else,  and  the  Colonel,  who 
might  well  be  pardoned  for  any  breach  in  such 
a  case,  and  Lady  Agnes,  wito  rose  in  the  middle 
of  an  animated  speech,  made  a  hasty  apology, 
and  sailed  out  after  her  sou  and  nephew.  They 
were  standing  at  the  head  of  the  grand,  sweep- 
ing staircase,  looking  down  into  the  lower  hall, 
with  its  domed  roof  and  huge  chandelier.  A 
crowd  of  S'Tvauts,  all  anxious  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  their  future  mistress,  were  assembled  there ; 
and  right  under  the  blaze  of  tiie  pendant  gas- 
burners,  stood  the  travelers  :  Mrs.  Wilder,  Mr. 
Roberts,  a  coquettishly  dressed  lady's  lady,  evi- 
dently Mies  Shirley's  bonne,  and,  lastly,  a  small 
Serson  in  a  gray  cloak  and  little  straw  hat,  un- 
oubtedly  Mins  Shirley  herself,  A=  Lady  Agnes 
reached  the  landing  the  travelers  were  moving 
toward  the  staircase,  and  Mrs.  Wilder,  seeing 
Iner  ladyship's  inquiring  face,  smilingly  answer- 
ed it. 

"  Yes,  my  lady,  we  have  brought  her  all  safe  ; 
ond  here  she  is.  ' 

The  little  girl   followed   Mrs.  Wilder  quite 


slowly  and  deoorously  up  the  stairs,  either  too 
much  fatigued  or  with  too  strong  a  sense  of  tho 
proprieties  to  run.  It  was  a  little  thing,  but  it 
predisposed  Lady  Agnes — who  had  a  horror  of 
rouips — in  her  favor,  and  they  all  stepped  back 
us  she  came  near.  A  pair  of  bright  eyes  under 
the  straw  hat  glanoed  quickly  from  face  to 
face,  rested  on  the  handsome  Colonel,  nnd  with 
a  glad,  childish  cry  of  "Ah,  mnn  fire  I"  tiie  U|tle 
girl  flung  herself  into  his  arms.  It  was  quK«  a 
scen««. 

"  My  dear  little  daui;hter  I  Welcome  to  yoni 
home  l"  said  the  Colonel,  stooping  tu  kiss  her, 
with  a  laugh,  ond  yet  with  a  happy  glow  on  hia 
own  face.  "  I  see  you  have  nut  forgotten  UM 
in  our  six  years'  separation  I"  , 

"  Non,  mon  perel'* 

The  Colonel  pressed  her  again,  and  turned 
with  her  to  lady  Agnes. 

•'  Genevieve,  say  '  how  do  you  do?'  to  this  lady 
— it  is  your  granJmother !" 

''  I  hope  Madame  is  very  wejl !"  said  Made- 
moiselle Genevieve,  with  sober  oiroplicity,  hold- 
ing up  one  cheek,  nnd  then  the  other,  to  be 
saluted  in  very  French  fashion. 

"  What  a  little  parrot  it  is  I"  cried  Lady 
Agnes,  with  a  slight  and  somewhat  sarcastic 
laugh,  peculiar  to  her.  "Can  you  not  speak 
English,  my  child?" 

"  Yes,  Madam,"  replied  tho  little  girl  in  that 
language,  speaking  clear  and  distinct,  but  with 
a  strong  accent. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  and  I  am  very  glad  to 
see  you,  too  I    Are  you  tired,  my  dear'?" 

"  No,  Madaii ;  only  very  little." 

"  Then  we  wi.l  take  this  cloak  and  hat  off,  and 
you  will  stay  with  us  fifteen  minutea  before  you 
retire  to  your  room.     Come.!" 

The  great  lady  took  the  small  girl's  hand  and 
led  her,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. It  was  more  a  stroke  of  policy  than 
of  curiosity  or  affection  that  prompted  the 
action  ;  for  one  glance  had  satisfied  Lady  Agnes 
that  the  child  was  presentable  au  naturel,  and 
she  was  anxious  to  display  her  to  her  friends 
before  they  could  maliciously  say  she  had  beea 
tutoring  her.  And  tho  next  moment  Mademoi- 
selle, fresh  from  tho  sober  twilight  of  her  con- 
vent, found  herself  in  the  full  blaze  of  a  grand 
drawing -root  a,  that  seemed  filled  with  people  and 
all  staring  at  her.  Half  reeoiling  on  tiie  thresh- 
old, timid  and  shy,  but  not  vulgarly  so,  she 
was  drawn  steadily  on  by  tho  lady's  strong, 
small  hand,  ond  heard  the  clear  voice  raying ; 
"  It  is  my  granddaughter — let  mo  take  oft  youi 
wrappings,  my  dear."  And  then,  with  her  own 
fair  fingers,  the  shrouding  hat  and  cloak  were 
removed,  and  the  littlo  heiress  stood  in  tho  fall 
glow  of  the  lightS;  revealed. 

Everybody  paused  an  instant  to  look  at  her 
father  and  grandmother,  who  had  not  yet  a  view 
of  her,  among  the  rest.  A  slender  angel,  quite 
small  for  her  age,  with  the  tiniest  hands  ana  £eet 


C 


M 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


ia  the  world— bnt  then  all  the  Cliffes  had  been 
noted  fur  that  trait — a  amall  pale  face,  very  pale 

Inst  now,  probably  from  fatigue,  delicate,  regu- 
ur  fuaturca,  and  an  exuberance  of  light  hair,  of 
tlie  same  flaxen  lightness  as  Lady  Auucs's  own, 
combed  behind  her  ears,  and  confined  in  a  thick 
black  chenille  net.  Her  dress  was  high-necked 
and  long-BJecTed,  soft  and  gray  iu  siiade,  thick 
aod  rich  in  texture,  and  slightly  trimmed  with 
peach-colored  ribbons.  Tlie  eyes  were  down- 
oast,  the  little  head  drooping  in  pardonable 
embarrassment ;  and  wiih  the  small,  pale  face, 
the  almost  colorless  hair,  and  dingy  gray  dress, 
she  did  not  look  very  dazzling,  certainly.  But 
Lady  Agnes  had  the  eye  of  an  eagle,  and  she 
eaw  that,  under  different  auspices,  and  in  differ- 
ent costume,  Miss  Shirley  was  not  wholly  an 
unprumising  case.  She  was  not  awkward  :  she 
uigitt  some  day  yet  be  even  pretty. 

All  the  ladies  came  forward  to  kiss  her ;  and 
Miss  Lisle,  who  saw  in  her  already  tlie  future 
bride  of  Lord  Henty,  went  into  pertect  raptures 
over  her.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  kissed  her, 
too ;  foremost  among  whom  was  Master  Tom 
Shirley,  who  was  mentally  contrasting  her,  to 
her  great  disadvanta!,'e,  wilh  the  silver-gilt  In- 
fant Venus,  on  whom  he  had  lavished  his  youth- 
ful affections.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
caresijing,  there  stood  one  Mordecai  at  the 
king's  gate,  who  did  not  seem  inclined  to  fall 
down  and  adore  the  rising  star.  It  was  Mar- 
garet Shirley,  who,  in  amber  gauze  and  flutter- 
ing ribbons,  and  creamy  flowers,  looked  dark, 
and  pale,  and  unlovely  as  ever;  and  who  hung 
back,  eitlier  from  timidity  or  some  worse  feeling, 
until  the  sharp  blue  eyes  of  her  aunt  fell  upon 
her. 

"Margaret,  como  here,  and  embrace  your 
cousin!"  called  that  lady  ?n  authoritative  dis- 
plaasure  ;  far  Miss  Margaret  was  no  favorite  at 
the  best  of  times.  "My  dear  child,  this  is 
your  cousin,  Margaret  Shirley." 

Mademoiselle,  a  good  deal  recovered  from  her 
emtiarrassment,  raised  her  eyes — very  large, 
very  bright,  very  blue — and  fixed  them,  with  a 
look  that  had  something  of  Lady  Agnes's  own 

!)ieroiug  intenscncss,  on  the  sallow  and  unhealthy 
(ice  of  Cousin  Margaret.  A  cold  look  came 
over  it,  as  if  with  that  glance  she  had  conceived 
a  sudden  antipathy  to  her  new  relative,  and  the 
cheek  she  turned  to  bo  saluted  was  offered  with 
marked  reserve.  Margaret  murmured  low  some 
words  of  welcome,  to  which  an  unsmiling  face 
and  a  very  slight  bend  of  the  head  was  return- 
ed ;  and  then  she  shrank  back  to  her  grand- 
mother, and  the  blue  eyes  went  wandering 
wistfully  round  the  room.  They  rested  on  those 
for  wliom  she  was  seeking — her  father's.  He 
held  out  his  hand  with  a  smile,  and  in  a  twink- 
ling the  grave  little  face  was  radiant  and  trans- 
formed, and  she  was  over  and  clinging  to  his 
arm,  and  looking  up  in  his  face  with  dancing 
eyes.    It  whs  quite  evident  that  while  all  the 


rest  there  were  mere  shadows  \o  her,  seeni^nd 
thought  of  now  for  the  first  time,  mon  phre  was 
a  vivid  image  in  reality,  beloved  and  dreamed 
of  for  years. 

•'  "Were  you  sorry  to  leave  your  convent, 
Genevieve?"  lie  asked,  sitting  down  in  an  arm- 
obair,  and  lifting  her  ou  hia  knee. 

"  Oh  no,  papa !"  she  answered,  readily,  ppeak- 
ing  in  English,  as  he  had  done. 

"And  why  ?  Your  friends  are  all  <heie  ;  and 
here,  everybody  is  strange." 

"  Not  everybody,  papa — you  are  here  !" 

"And  she  only  saw  me  once  in  her  life,'  and 
that's  six  years  ago,"  laughed  the  Colonel, 
looking  down  at  the  little  faoo  nestling  against 
his  shoulder. 

"  But  I  dreamed  of  you  every  day  and  every 
night,  papa ;  and  then  your  letters — O  those 
beautiful  letters  1  I  have  them  every  one,  and 
have  read  them  over  a  thousand  times !" 

"  My  good  little  girl !  and  she  loves  papa, 
then?" 

"  Better  than  everything  else  in  the  world, 
papa!" 

"  Thank  you,  Mademoiselle !"  still  laughing  ; 
"  and  grandmamma — ^you  mean  to  love  her  too, 
don't  you?" 

"  Mais  certainment  /"  said  Mademoiselle,  with 
gravity. 

"And  your  uncle  and  your  cousins  ?  There 
is  one  now — how  do  you  think  vou  will  liiio 
him  ?" 

Tom  Shirley  was  standing  near,  with  hid 
hands,  boy-fast!ion,  in  his  pockets,  listening 
with  an  air  of  preternatural  solemnity  to  the 
conversation,  and  the  Colonel  turned  his  laugh- 
ing face  toward  him.  Miss  Genevieve  glanced 
up  and  over  Tom  with  calm  and  serious  dig- 
nity. 

"  I  don't  know,  papa — I  don't  like  boys  at  all 
— that  is,  except  Claude  I" 

"  Who  is  Claude,  petite  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  know,  don't  you  ?  His  father  is  Le 
Marquis  do  St.  Hilary  ;  and  I  spent  the  last 
vacation  at  the  chateau,  away  out  in  the  couu- 
try." 

"Grand  connections?  Who  sent  my  little 
girl  there  ?" 

"  I  went  with  Ignacia — that's  his  sister ;  and 
we  are  iu  tue  same  division  at  school.  Papa," 
in  a  whisper,  "  is  that  girl  over  there,  in  the 
yellow  dress,  his  sister?" 

"No  petite— why?" 

••  For  they  have  black  eyes  and  black  hair 
alike,  only  his  is  curly,  and  he  is'^  great  deal 
handsomer.  Grandmamma  said  she  was 
cousin — is  she  ?" 


my 


Yes  ;  and  his." 


Well,  what  now 


"  Does  she  live  here  ?" 
"  Yes,  they  both  live  here, 
^-don't  you  like  them?" 

"I  don't  hke  her  at  all  I    Oh  how  ugly  she 

IB  I 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


38 


r,  seeniiftnd 
on  phre  was 
ad  dreanied 

ir  convent, 
in  an  arm- 

iJily,  ppcok- 

iheie  ;  and 

lere  I" 
ler  life,'  and 
16   Colonel, 
ing  against 

ond  every 

8 — O  tbosd 

xy  one,  and 

nee !" 

loves  papa, 

the  world, 

1  laughing  ; 
jve  her  too, 

loiselle,  with 

ns?  There 
>u  will   lilio 

ir,  with  hid 
a,  listening 
mity  to  the 
d  his  laugb- 
eve  glancod 
serious  dig- 

>  boys  at  all 


father  is  Le 
!nt  the  last 
in  the  couiK 

t  my  littk 

sister;  and 
ol.  Papa," 
lere,  in  the 


black  hail 

great  deal 

lie  was  my 


1,  what  now 
w  ugly  the 


The  Colonel  laughed,  and  laid  his  hand  ever 
her  lips. 

"My  dear  Genevieve,  what  are  you  saying? 
it  will  never  do  for  you  to  talk  in  that  fashion  I 
Maggie  is  the  best  little  girl  in  the  world,  and 
slie  will  be  a  nice  companion  for  you  to  play 
with.' 

"  I  shan't  play  with  her !  I  shan't  like  her 
at  all !"  said  Qenevi;  ve,  with  decision.  "  What 
makes  her  live  here  ?" 

"  Because  she  is  an  orphan,  and  has  no  other 
homo,  and  I  know  you  will  be  kind  to  her, 
Vivia.  Who  taught  you  to  speak  English  as 
well  as  you  do?" 

'*  Oil,  we  had  an  English  teacher  in  the  con- 
vent, and  a  great  many  of  the  girls  were  En- 
glish, aad  we  used  to  speak  it  a  great  deal. 
Did  I  tell  you  in  my  last  letter  how  many  prizes 
I  got  at  the  Distribution  ?" 

'*  I  forget-— tell  me  again  ?" 

"  I  got  the  first  prize  in  our  division  for 
singing  and  English ;  the  second  for  music  and 
drawing,  mathematics  and  astronomy." 

"  Whew  l"  whistled  Tom,  siill  an  attentive 
listener.  "This  little  midge  taking  the  prize 
in  matlieniatics!     What  an  idea  that  is !'' 

"  Can  you  sing  and  play,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa,  certainly !" 

"  Then,  suppose  you  favor  us  with  a  song  ! 
I  should  like  to  hear  you  smg,  of  all  things  !" 
said  the  Culunel,  still  in  his  half-laughing  way. 

"  0  my  dear  ClifFe,  the  child  must  be  too 
tired  1"  said  Lady  Agnea,  sailing  up  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  not  oaring  half  so  much  for  the 
ohiM's  fatigue  as  the  idea  that  she  miglit  make  a 
show  of  herself. 

"  I  am  not  fatigued  ;  but  I  don't  like  to  sing 
before  so  many  ladies  and  gentlemen,  papa," 
whispered  Miss  Genevieve,  blushing  a  little. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  1  am  certain  they  will  be 
delighted.     Come  along." 

Miss  Lisle  having  iust  favored  the  company 
with  a  Swiss  composition,  that  had  a  great  many 
"  tra  la-las"  at  the  end  of  each  verse,  closed  with 
a  shrill  shriek  and  a  terrific  bang  of  all  the  keys 
at  ODce,  and  arose  from  the  instrument.  Colo- 
nel Sliirley,  holding  his  little  daughters  hand, 
led  her  reluctant  and  blushing,  to  the  seat  the 
young  lady  had  vacated,  amid  a  profound  silence 
of  curious  expectation. 

"  What  shall  I  sing,  papa  ?"  inquired  Made- 
moiselle, running  her  nugers  lightly  over  the 
keys,  and  recovering  her  self-possessession  when 
she  found  herself  hopelessly  in  for  it. 

''Oh!  whatever  you  please.  We  are  willing 
to  be  enchanted  with  anything." 

Thus  encouraged,  Mademoiselle  played  a 
somewhat  difficult  prelude  from  memory,  and 
then,  in  a  clear,  sweet  soprano,  broke  out  into 
'•  Casta  Diva".  Her  voice  was  rich  nnd  clear,  and 
full  of  pathos;  her  touch  highly  cultivated  ;  her 
expression  perfect.  Evidently  her  musical  talent 
ras  wonderful,  or  she  had  the  best  of  teach- 


ers, and  an  excellent  power  of  imitation.  Et< 
erybody  was  astonished — no  one  more  bo  than 
papa,  who  had  expected  some  simple  French 
chaiisonette,  and  Lady  Agnes  was  equally  amoz- 
ed  and  delighted.  The  room  rang  with  plauiW 
its  when  she  ceased  ;  and,  coloring  visibly,  Made- 
moiselle Genevieve  rose  quickly,  and  sought 
shrinking  shelter  under  papa's  wmgs. 

"  It  is  a  most  wonderful  child  I"  said  Miaa 
Lisle,  holding  up  her  hands.  "  No  profession- 
al could  have  sung  it  better." 

"  She  sings  well,"  said  Lady  Agnes,  smiling 
graciously  on  the  small  performer,  and  patting 
the  now  hot  cheek  with  her  gold  and  ivory  fan. 
"  But  she  is  tired,  now,  and  must  go  to  rest. 
Tom,  ring  for  Mrs.  Wilder. 

Tom  rang,  and  Mrs.  Wilder  came. 

*'  Bid  your  friends  good-night,  my  dear,"  said 
Lady  Agnes. 

Mademoiselle  did  so,  courte^ying  with  the 
prettiest  childlike  grace  imaginable. 

"  You  will  take  her  to  the  liose  lioora,  Mrs. 
Wilder,  next  my  boudoir.  Good  night,  my 
love.     Pleasant  dreams !" 

And  Lady  Agnes  finished  by  kissing  her,  and 
turning  her  and  the  housekeeper  out  of  tlte 
drawing-room. 

"  Where  is  Jeannctte,  Madam  ?"  inquired 
Miss  Shirley,  as  she  tripped  along  up  another 
grand  staircase,  and  through  balls  and  Oorri- 
dora,  beside  the  housekeeper. 

"  In  your  room.  Miss  Vivio,  waiting  fcr 
you." 

"  Is  she  to  sleep  near  me.  I  must  have  Jean- 
nette  near  me." 

"  She  is  to  sleep  in  a  little  closet  off  your 
room.     Here  it  is.    Good  night,  Miss  Vivia." 

But  Miss  Vivia  did  not  speak.  She  had  stop- 
ped in  the  doorway  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration 
and  delight.  And  no  wonder.  In  all  her  child- 
ish dreams  of  beauty,  in  all  she  had  seen  at  the 
Chateau  and  Hotel  de  St.  Hilary,  there  hail 
never  been  anything  half  so  beautiful  as  this. 
The  apartment  had  once  been  Lady  Agnes's 
study,  where  she  received  her  steward,  and 
transacted  all  Iter  business ;  but  during  the  last 
week,  it  had  been  newly  furnished  and  fitted  up 
for  the  youthful  iieiress.  Her  ov/n  rooms — 
bath-room,  dressing-room,  bed-room,  and  bou- 
doir— were  all  en  suite,  and  this  was  the  last  of 
them.  The  feet  sank  in  the  carpet  of  pale 
rose-colored  velvet,  sown  all  over  with  white 
buds  and  deep-green  leaves ;  the  walls  were 
paneled  in  piuK  satin  bordered  with  silver ;  arad 
the  great  Maltese  window  was  draped  in  rose 
velvet,  cut  in  antique  points.  The  lofty  ceiling 
was  fretted  in  rose  and  silver  ;  and  the  chairs  of 
some  white  wood,  polished  till  they  shone  like  iv- 
ory, were  cushioned  in  the  same  glowing  tints ; 
BO  were  the  couches,  and  a  great  carved  and 
gilded  fauteuil,  and  the  flashing  chandelier  of 
frosted  silver,  with  burners  shaped  like  lilies, 
had  deep  red  shades,  filling  the  room  with  rosy 


M 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


radiance.  Tlic  bed  in  a  distant  nieove,  screen* 
ed  with  filmy-white  lace  curtHii.s,  nr.is  carved 
and  gilded  in  the  same  snow-wiiii«  wuod  ;  and 
oyer  the  head,  standing  on  a  Grecian  brocket, 
was  a  beautiful  stAtute  b(  the  "  Guardian  Angel", 
with  folded  wings,  drooping  bead,  outstretched 
arms,  and  smiling  face.  The  inlaid  tables  were 
exquisite  *,  a  Bible  lay  on  one  of  them,  bound 
in  gold  and  rose-velvet,  with  the  name  "  Victo- 
ria Genevieve"  in  gold  letters  on  the  cover ;  a 
gilded  bird-c:ige,  with  two  or  three  brilliant 
tropical  birds  therein,  was  pendant  near  the 
window  ;  and  over  the  carved  mantle  of  Egyp- 
tian marbid  hung  the  exquisite  picture  of"  Christ 
Blessing  Little  Children."  The  whole  thing  had 
been  the  design  of  Lady  Agnes.  Every  article 
it  contnined  had  been  critically  inspected  be- 
fore being  placed  there,  and  the  effect  was  per- 
fect. In  it,  Moore  might  have  written  "  Lalla 
Bookh" ;  and  not  even  Fadladeen  could  have 
found  anything  to  grumble  at ;  and  little  Gene- 
vieve clapped  her  iiands  in  an  ecstasy  of  speech 
and  delight. 

"It  is  perfect,  Mademoiselle!"  exclaimed 
Jeannette,  the  bonne  who  had  attended  the  little 
girl  from  Paris.  "  Look  at  this  lovely  dressing- 
case  !  and  here  is  the  wardrobe  with  such  great 
znirror-doora  ;  and  in  this  Psyche  glass  I  can  see 
jnyself  from  top  to  toe  ;  and  here  is  a  door  at 
Ibe  foot  of  your  bed  opening  into  your  grand- 
mamma's boudoir,  and  this  cedar  closet — lioes 
it  not  smell  deliciously? — is  here  I  am  to 
deep." 

<'0h,  it  is  beautiful !  There  is  nothing  at  all 
in  Hotel  de  8t  Hilary  like  it !  It  is  like  heav- 
en !" 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle ;  and  your  grandmamma 
is  a  very  great  lady  ;  and  they  say  down  stairs, 
there  is  nut  a  finer  house  in  all  England  than 
this ;  and  that  you  will  be  the  richest  heiress 
that  ever  was  heard  of  I" 

"  That  is  charming !  I  will  sit  in  this  great, 
beautiful  chair,  and  you  may  take  my  dress  off, 
and  bru!*i<  out  my  hair.  Did  you  see  my  papa, 
Jeannette  ?" 

Yes,  Mademoiselle.     He  looks  like  a  king  !"' 

"  And  I  love  him !  Oh,  I  love  him  better 
than  all  the  whole  world  !  and  ma  grandemere — 
you  saw  her,  too,  Jeannette?  She  makes  one 
afraid  of  her,  in  her  splendid  dress  and  rubies  — 
far  finer  than  anything  that  Madame  la  Marquise 
de  St.  Hilary  ever  wore  ;  but  she  is  very  grand 
and  handsoijje,  and  I  admire  her  ever  so  muoh  ! 
And  my  cousins — ^you  did  not  see  them — did 
you,  Jeannette  ?" 

"  No,  Mademoiselle.     Do  yoii  like  them  ?" 

"  I  don't  like  one  of  I  hem  at  all.  Mademoiselle 
Marguerite — oh,  she  is  so  ugly,  and  has  such  a 
yellow  skin  !  Just  as  yellow  as  poor  old  Sister 
Lucia,  in  the  convent  f  There,  Jeannette,  you 
ean  go.  I  shall  say  my  prayers  and  go  to  bed  ! 
Oh,  what  a  lovely  room  this  is!" 

The  flaxen  faa>  was  gathered  in  a  little  cambric 


night-cap  ;  the  gray  dress  exchanged  for  a  .ong 
sacdenuit;  and  everything  being  done,  Jean- 
nette vanished,  and  Mademoiselle  said  her  pray- 
ers with  sleepy  devotion,  and  climbed  in,  and 
sunk  from  sight  in  pillows  of  down  ;  and,  think- 
ing how  splendid  everything  was,  fell  asleep. 

"  Lady  Agnes  Shirley,  waking  at  some  gray 
and  dismal  hour  of  the  cavly  morning,  felt  a 
strong  impolse  of  curiosity  prompting  her  to 
rise  up  and  take  a  look  at  her  little  grand- 
daughter asleep.  So,  arising,  she  donned  slip- 
pers and  dressing-gown,  entered  the  boudoir, 
softly  opened  the  door  of  communication  be- 
tween it  and  her  little  girl's  room,  and  looked 
in.  And  there  a  surprise  nwaitcd  her!  instead 
of  finding  Mndenioiselle  fast  asieep  among  the 
pillows,  something  half  dressed,  a  fairy  in  a 
white  undershirt  and  loose  sack,  stood  with  her 
back  toward  her,  trying — yes,  actually  frying  lo 
make  the  bed !  But  the  ambitious  effort  was 
unavailing,  the  small  arms  could  by  no  mean& 
reach  halfway  across,  nnd  the  little  hands  could 
by  no  effort  shake  up  the  mighty  sea  of  down  ; 
and,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh,  the  heiress  of  the 
Shirleys  gave  up  the  attempt  at  last.  Tbep 
elie  went  to  the  basin,  washed  her  face  and 
hands,  brushed  out  the  profusion  of  her  pale 
hair,  and  then  coming  back,  knelt  down  under 
the  "Guardian  AuKel",  crossed  herself  devoutly*, 
and  with  clasped  hands  and  upraised  eye  begop 
to  pray.  The  child  looked  almost  lovely  at 
that  moment,  in  her  loose  drapery,  her  un- 
bound falling  hair,  her  clear,  pale  face,  clasped 
hands,  and  uplifted  earnest  eyes.  But  Lady 
Agnes  was  a  great  deal  too  stupified  at  the 
whole  extraordinary  scene  to  think  of  admira- 
tion,  or  even  think  at  all,  and  could  do  nothing 
but  stand  there  and  look  on.  A  quarter  of -an 
hour  passed,  the  little  girl  did  not  stir ;  half  an 
hour,  the  little  saint  prayed  still ;  when  the 
door  of  the  cedar  closet  opened  and  out  came 
Jeannette.  Genevieve  finished  her  devotions 
and  arose. 

"  Now,  Mademoiselle,  what  have  you  been 
about  ?  You  have  never  been  trying  to  make 
that  bed  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  though,  but  I  couldn't  do  it! 
It's  so  very  large  you  see,  Jeannette." 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  surprised  at  you !  What 
would  your  grandmamii.<a  say  if  she  knew  it?" 

Mademoiselle  opened  her  bright  blue  eyes  in 
undisiruised  surprise. 

"  Knew  what  ?     What  have  I  done  ?" 

*■  You  are  not  to  make  beds,  Mademoiselle  !" 
said  Jeannette,  laughing.  "lam  sure  your  grand- 
mamma does  not  expect  you  to  do  anything  of 
the  sort." 

"But  I  have  always  done  it.  We  all  made 
our  own  beds  in  the  convent,  except  the  very 
little  ones." 

"Well,  this  is  not  a  convent,  but  a  castle^ 
and  you  know.  Mademoiselle  Vivia,  there  is  a 
proverb   that  we  must  do  in  Rome  as  the  Re 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFPE. 


97 


mans  do.  So  jou  need  not  do  it  any  more,  or 
they'll  think  you  have  been  a  housemaid  in 
France ;  and  another  thing,  what  in  the  world 
do  you  get  up  bo  early  for  ?" 

"  Early  !  Why  the  sun  is  rising,  and  we  al- 
ways got  up  before  the  sun,  in  the  convent  I" 

"  The  convent !  the  convent  I  Please  to  re- 
member  you  are  nut  in  a  convent,  now,  Made- 
moiselle, and  sunrise  is  a  very  early  hour. 
There  is  not  one  up  in  the  houw,  I  believe,  but 
surselves/' 

"  I  don't  ct^re  for  that,  I  shall  get  up  as  early 
OS  I  please,  unless  papa  or  grandmamma  pre- 
vent it,  and  I  don't  think  they  will.  Ho  here, 
curl  my  hair,  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

Jeannette  twined  tlie  flaxen  tresses  over  her 
fingers  and  let  them  fall  in  a  shining  shower  to 
the  child's  waist.  Then  a  dress  of  fresh  white 
muelin  was  brought  out  and  put  on,  a  sash  of 
broad  blue  ribbon  knotted  round  the  little 
waist;  and  Lady  Agnes,  from  her  watching  place, 
allowed,  what  she  could  not  last  night,  thab  her 
granddaughter  was  pretty. 

''  Now,"  said  Maaeraoiselle,  trying  her  straw 
hat  over  her  prettv  curls,  "  T  saw  some  lovely 
rose-gardens  out  of  the  window,  and  you  must 
come  with  me  to  see  them.  Do  you  think  you 
can  find  yonr  way  to  the  door :  it  is  such  a 
great  house  this !" 

"  I  will  see.    Corao  along  I" 
The  two    went  out  of    the  Rose  Room  ;  and 
Lady  Agiiea    having    got    the    better  of  her 
iimiiztiinent,   laughed    her    low    and    sarcaatio 
laugh,  and  went  back  to  her  own  bedchamber. 

"  lb  is  a  prodigy — this  smalt  granddaughter 
of  mine,  and  so  French  !  I  am  afraid  she  takos 
after  that  dreadful  French  actress,  tho>igir,  Dieu- 
merci !  she  does  not  look  like  her.  Well,  if 
they  liave  taught  her  nothing  worse  than  getting 
up  at  sunrise  in  lier  French  convent,  they  have 
(lone  no  harm  after  all ;  but  what  an  extraor- 
dinary child  it  is,  to  be  sure  I  She  took  to  that 
exhibition  of  herself  quite  naturally  last  even- 
ing— the  Frencit  actrcsa  ac^ain.  And  that  odious 
uaiue  of  Genevieve  1  I  wish  I  could  have  her 
ciirigtened  over  again  and  called  Agnes;  but  I 
Buopose  Victoria  will  do  for  want  of  a  l)etter." 

The  young  lady  thus  apostrophized  was 
meantime  having  a  very  good  time,  out  among 
the  rose-gardens  and  laurel  walks.  Jeannette 
had  found  her  way  through  some  side  door 
or  other.  And  now  the  little  white 
foiry,  with  the  blue  ribbons,  and  fluttering 
flaxen  curls,  was  darting  hither  and  thither 
among  the  parterres  like  some  pretty  white 
bird.  Now  she  was  watching  the  swaas  sailing 
serenely  about  in  the  mimic  lakes  ;  now  she 
was  looking  at  the  goldfish  glancing  in  the 
fountains  ;  now  she  was  lost  in  admiration  of  a 
great  peacock,  strutting  up  and  down  on'one  of 
the  terraceH  with  the  first  rays  of  sunshine 
sparkling  on  his  outspread  tail — a  tail  which  its 
owner  evidently  admired  quite  as  much  as  the 


little  girl ;  now  she  was  hunting  squirrels  ;  now 
she  was  listening  to  the  twittering  of  the  birdji 
in  the  beechwood  and  through  the  shrubbery; 
now  she  was  gathering  roses  and  carnations  to 
make  bouquets  for  papa  and  grandmamma,  and 
anon  she  was  running  up  and  down  the  terraces 
with  dress,  and  ribbons,  and  curls  streaming  ia 
the  wind,  a  bloom  on  her  cheek,  and  a  light  in 
her  eye,  and  a  bounding,  elastic  life  in  every 
step,  that  would  make  one's  pulses  leap  from 
sympathy  only  to  look  at  her.  The  time  went  by 
like  magic.  ICven  tue  Htuid  Jeannette  so  far  for« 
got  the  proprieties  as  to  be  seduced  into  a  rao« 
up  and  uown  the  green  lanes  bc^tween  thechesfc* 
nut  trees,  and  coming  flying  back,  breathless  and 
panting,  Genevieve  ran  plump  into  the  arms  of 
the  Colonel,  who  stood  on  the  lawn  laughing, 
and  smoking  his  matin  cigar. 

"  You  wild  gipsy  !  Is  this  the  sort  of  thing 
they  have  been  teaciiing  you  in  your  sober  oon- 
I  vent  ?  At  what  unchristian  hour  did  you  rise 
this  morning  ?  and  who  ure  those  bouquets  for  ?" 
'*  One  is  for  you,  pupa ;  and  I've  been  oul 
here  three  hours,  and  1  uin  so — so  hungry!" 
laugh'.ng  merrily  and  pressing  the  hand  he  held 
out  for  the  flowers. 

"  That's  right!  stick  to  that  if  you  can,  and 
you  will  not  need  any  rouge — ^your  cheeks  are 
redder  now  than  your  rosea.  There !  they  are 
in  my  button-hole,  and  while  I  smoke  my  cigar 
down  the  avenue,  do  you  go  in  with  your 
bonne  and  get  some  bread  and  milk.'' 

Vivia  ran  off  after  Jeanette,  and  a  housemaid 
brought  them  the  bread  and  milk  into  the 
breakfast-parlor.  Like  all  the  rooms  in  the 
house,  it  was  handsome,  and  haurlsomely  fur- 
nished ;  but  Vivia  saw  only  one  thins; — a  por- 
trait over  the  mantel  of  Master  Clitfe  Shirley 
at  the  age  of  fifteen.  He  wore  the  costume  of 
a  young  Highland  chief— a  plumed  bonnet  oa 
his  princely  head,  a  plaid  of  Rob-Roy  tartan 
over  bis  shoulders,  and  a  bow  and  arrow  in  his 
hand.  The  handsome,  laughing  face,  the  bright, 
frank,  cheery  eyes,  tl»e  beamy  locks,  peculiarly- 
becoming  dress,  gave  the  picture  a  fascination 
that  riveted  the  gaze  even  of  strangers.  Lady 
Agnes  Shirley,  cold,  hard  woman  of  the  world, 
had  wept  a  heart-broken  tear  over  that  splendid 
face  in  the  days  when  she  thonirht  him  dead 
under  an  In>iian  sky  ;  and  now  his  little  daugh- 
ter dropped  on  one  knee  before  it,  and  held  up 
her  clasped  hands  with  a  cry : 

"  O  my  handsome  papa  !  Everything  in  this 
place  is  beautiful,  but  be  is  the  best  of  all  1" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CASTLB   CLIFl'K. 

Lady  Agnes  was  not  an  early  riser.  Noon 
usually  found  her  breakfa.sting  in  her  boudoir  ; 
but  on  this  particular  mornitig  she  otitic  sailing 
down  stairs,  to  the  infinite  iistonii^kinciit  ana 
amazement  of  all  beholders,  just  n«  the  little 
French  closk  in  the  breakfuot-paHur  woa  chioi' 


n: 


28 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


ing  eight.  Genevieve  eat  on  an  ottoman  oppo- 
site tlie  mantel,  with  a  porcelain  bowl  on  her 
lap,  a  silver  epuoii  in  her  hand,  gazing  iutently 
at  the  portrait,  and  feasting  her  eyes  and  her 
palate  at  the  same  time.  !She  started  up  ns 
Lady  Agnes  entered  with  a  smiling  courtesy,  and 
eame  forward  witli  ftuuk  grace,  holding  up  her 
blooming  cheeks  to  l>e  saluted. 

"  Good  morning,  petite  I  Fresh  as  a  rosebud, 
I  see!  So  you  were  up  and  out  of  your  nest 
before  the  birds  this  morning  !  Was  it  because 
you  did  not  sleep  well  last  night?" 

"  Oh  no,  Madam.  I  slept  very  well ;  bnt  I 
dways  rise  early.    It  is  not  wrong,  is  it?" 

"  By  no  means.  I  like  to  see  little  girls  up 
with  the  sun.     Well,  Tom,  good  morning !'' 

"  Can  1  believe  my  eyes  ?"  exclaimed  Tom 
Shirley,  entering,  Bad  starting  back  iu  affected 
horror  at  the  sigiit.  "  Do  I  really  behold  my 
Aunt  Agnes,  oris  this  her  ghost?" 

"Oil,  nonsense!  Ring  the  bell.  Have  you 
seen  the  Colonel  ?  Oh  !  here  he  comes.  Have 
you  ordered  the  carriage  to  be  in  readiness, 
Gliflfe?" 

"  Yes.  What  is  the  bill  of  fare  for  to-day  ?" 
said  the  Colonel,  sannterine  in. 

"  You  know  we  are  to  return  all  those  calls — 
such  a  bore,  too  !  and  this  the  first  day  of  our 
little  girl's  stay  among  us !  What  will  you  ''.o 
all  day,  my  dear  ?"' 

"  Oh,  sbe  will  amuse  herself,  never  fear!" said 
the  Colonel.  "  1  found  her  racing  like  a  wild 
Indian.  Don't  blusli,  Vivia ;  it's  all  right. 
And  she  can  spend  the  day  in  exploring  the 
place  with  her  bonne." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  house,  Victoria  ?" 
inquired  Lady  Agnes,  taking  her  place  at  the 
head  of  th^  table,  and  laying  marlced  empha- 
sis on  the  name. 

"  If  that  does  not  inconvenience  you  nt  all. 
Madam." 

"  Let  Margaret  stay  from  school,  then,  and 
show  her  the  place,"  said  the  Colonel, 

"Margaret!  Absurd!  Margaret  couldn't 
show  it  any  more  than  a  cat.  Tom,  can  you 
not  get  a  half-holiday  this  afternoon,  and  show 
Cousin  Victoria  over  the  house  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  that  yonn^  gentlewoman  her- 
self does  not  object,"  said  Tom,  buttering  his 
roll  witli  gravity. 

The  small  gentlewoman  in  question,  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  in  her  white  dress, 
and  blue  ribbons,  and  ttuxen  curls  falling  to  her 
waist,  did  not  object,  though,  had  Margaret  been 
decided  on  as  chaperon,  she  probably  would 
have  done  so.  BoCh  cousins  had  been  met  last 
night  for  the  first  time  ;  but  her  feelings  tow- 
ard them  were  quite  different  Toward  Tom 
they  were  negative ;  she  did  not  dislike  him, 
bat  she  did  not  care  for  him  one  way  or  the 
other.  Toward  Margaret  they  were  positive  re- 
pulsion, and  expressed  exaotly  what  she  felt 
toward  that  young  person.    Still  she  looked  a 


little  doubtful  as  to  tho  propriety  of  being 
chaperoned  by  a  great  boy  six  feet  high ;  but 
grandmamma  suggested  it,  and  papa  was  smil- 
ing over  at  her,  so  there  could  be  no  impro- 
priety, and  she  courtesied  gravely  in  assent,  and 
made  toward  the  door.  Margaret  entered  at 
the  same  moment,  arrayed  in  pink  muslin.  She 
passed  Mademoiselle  with  a  low  "  Good-morning, 
Cousin  Genevieve  I",  and  took  her  place  at  the 
table. 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  pistolet  with  us  ?"  cilled  her  father  after 
her,  as  she  stood  in  the  hall,  balancing  hersell 
on  one  foot,  and  beating  time  a  la  militaire 
with  the  other. 

"  No,  papa,  thank  you  ;  I  never  drink  coffee. 
We  always  had  bread  and  milk  for  breakfast  in 
the  convent." 

"Oh!  that  ev'^rlasting  convent!"  exclaimed 
Lady  Agnes,  pettishly.  "  We  will  have  another 
martyred  abbess  in  the  family,  Cliffe,  if  you 
ever  send  the  littje  nonette  back  to  her  Paris 
school." 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  Tom  donned  his 
college-school  trencher,  slung  his  satchel  over 
his  shoulder,  and  set  out  with  Margaret  to  Clif- 
tonlea,  telling  that  young  lady,  as  he  weut,  he 
expected  it  would  oe  jolly  showing  tlie  little 
original  over  the  house.  And  as  her  toilet  was 
made.  Lady  Agnes  and  her  son  rolled  away  in 
the  grand  ramily  carriage,  emblazoned  with  the 
Cliffe  coat  of  arms  ;  and  Genevieve  was  left  to 
her  own  devices.  In  all  her  life  she  could  not 
remember  a  morning  that  went  so  swiftly  as 
that,  flying  about  in  the  sunshine,  half  wild 
with  the  sense  of  liberty,  and  the  hitherto  un- 
imagined  delights  of  the  place.  She  found  her 
way  to  the  Swiss  farm-house,  and  was  trans- 
ported by  the  little  i)igs,  and  calves,  and  poul- 
try ;  and  s'.ie  and  Jeannette  got  into  the  little 
white  boat,  and  were  rowed  over  the  sparkling 
ripples  of  the  lah.e  by  one  of  the  farn  ^r's  girls. 
?he  wandered  away  down  even  \o  the  extreme 
length  of  the  grand  avenue,  tiring  Jeannette 
nearly  to  death  ;  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
lodgekeeper  and  his  wife  in  the  Italian  \*lla, 
ana  was  even  more  enchanted  by  a  little  baby 
they  had  there  than  eho  had  been  before  by  the 

f>ig8  and  calves  ;  and  when  Tom  returned  for 
lis  early  dinner  at  one  o'clock,  he  fo\ind  her 
swinging  backward  and  forward  through  space, 
like  an  animated  pendulum,  in  a  great  swing  in 
the  trees. 

The  young  lady  and  gentleman  had  a  tite-a- 
tite  dinner  that  day ;  for  Margaret  was  a  half 
boarder  at  the  Cliftontlea  Female  Aoudemy, 
and  always  dined  there ;  and  before  the  meal 
was  over,  they  were  chatting  away  with  the  fa- 
miliarity of  old  friends.  At  first,  Mademoiselle 
Vivia  was  inclined  to  treat  Master  Tom  with 
dignified  reserve,  but  his  animated  volubility 
and  determination  to  be  on  cordial  terms  were 
pot  to  be  resisted  ;  and  tbej  rose  from  the  table 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFR 


20 


of  being 
high;   but 

was  smil- 
lo  impro- 
lasent,  and 
entered  at 
islin.  She 
-morning, 
ace  at  the 

of  coffee 
ithcr  after 
ng  heraell 

militaire 

ink  coffee, 
realifast  in 

exclaimed 

ve  another 

Fe,  if  you 

her  Paris 

lonned  his 
tcbel  over 
•et  to  Clif- 
e  went,  he 

the  little 

toilet  was 
id  awoy  in 
d  with  the 
ras  left  to 
could  not 
swiftly  as 

half  wild 
therto  iin- 
found  her 
iras  trans- 
and  poul- 

the  little 
sparkling 
^r's  girls. 
J  extreme 
Joannette 
ice  of  the 
liiin  \*lla, 
ittle  baby 
re  by  the 
urned  for 
'o\ind  her 
gh  space, 
/  swing  in 

I  a  lite-a- 
18  a  half 
Uudemy, 
the  meal 
'h  the  fa- 
emoiselle 
om  with 
olubiiity 
rms  were 
the  teblfl 


the  best  friends  in  the  world.  To  vbit  Clifton- 
lea  without  going  to  Castle  Cliffe  was  like  yisit- 
ing  Rome  without  going  to  St.  Peter's.  All 
sight-seeers  went  there,  and  were  enchanted, 
but  few  of  them  ever  h^d  so  fluent  and  voluble 
a  guide  as  its  heiress  had  now.  From  gallery 
to  gallery,  through  beautiful  saloons  and  sup- 
per-rooms, through  blooming  conservatories, 
magnificent  suites  of  drawing-rooms,  oak  par- 
lors and  libraries,  Tom  enthusiastically  strode, 
gesticulating,  describing,  and  inventing  some- 
times, when  his  memory  fell  short  of  facts,  in  a 
way  that  equally  excited  the  surprise  and  ad- 
miration of  bis  small  auditor.  The  central,  or 
main  part  of  the  Castle,  aocordint^  te  Tom,  was 
88  old  as  the  days  of  the  Fifth  Henry — as  in- 
deed its  very  ancient  style  of  architecture,  and 
aaa  inscription  in  antique  French  on  an  old  man- 
tel-piece, proved.  To  the  riglit  and  left  there 
were  two  octagonal  towers :  one  called  the 
Queen's  Tower,  built  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  so  named  because  that  illuatrous 
lady  herself  had  onoe  lionored  it  with  a  week's 
visit — the  other,  called  the  Agnes  Tower,  had 
been  erected  in  the  same  reign  at  a  lat«>r  date, 
and  was  named  after  Laily  Agnes  Cliffe,  the 
bride  of  its  then  proprietor,  i'om  had  won- 
derful stories  to  tell  about  these  old  places  ;  but 
the  great  point  of  attraction  w  is  tlie  picture- 
gallery,  an  immense  hall  lighted  with  beautiful 
oriel  windows  of  otained  glass,  and  along  whose 
walls  hunt^  the  pictured  faces  of  all  the  Cliffes, 
who  had  reigned  there  from  time  immemorial. 
Qallant  knights,  in  wigs,  and  swords,  and  dou- 
blets ;  courtly  dames  in  diamond  stomachers, 
and  head-dresses  three  feet  high,  looked  down 
with  their  dead  eyes  on  the  last  of  their  an- 
oieat  race — the  little  girl  in  the  white  dress  and 
blue  ribbons,  who  held  her  breath  with  awe,  and 
felt  as  if  she  heard  the  ghostly  rustling  of  their 
garments  against  the  oak  walls.  Master  Tom, 
who  had  no  Cliffe  blood  in  his  veins,  and  no 
bump  of  Veneration  on  his  head,  ran  on  with  an 
easy  fluency  that  would  have  made  his  fortune 
29  a  Btump-leoturer. 

'*  That  horrid  old  fright  up  there,  in  the  bag- 
wig  and  knee-breeches,  is  SirMarmaduke  Cliffe, 
who  built  tbe  two  towers  in  the  days  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  ;  and  that  sour-looking  dame  with  a 
mffle  sticking  out  five  feet,  was  Lady  Agnes 
Neville,  his  wife.  That  there  is  Sir  Lionel,  who 
was  master  here  in  the  days  of  the  Merry  Mon 
arch — the  handsomest  Cliffe  among  them,  and 
everybody  says  I'm  his  born  image.  That  good- 
lookmg  nun  over  there  witli  the  crucifix  in  her 
hand  and  tlie  whites  of  her  eyes  upturned,  was 
the  Lady  A'lbess,  onoe  of  the  ruined  convent  be- 
iWad  here,  and  got  hnr  brains  knocked  out  by 
that  abominable  Boarap,  Thomas  6romweII. 
There's  tlie  present  Lady  Agnes  in  white  aatin 
and  pearls — her  bridal  drese,  I  believe.  And 
there— do  you  know  who  frhat  is  ?" 

A  young  man,  looking  like  a  prince  in  the 


uniform  of  an  o£Boer  of  dragoons,  with  the  blue 
eyes,  golden  hair,  and  laughing  face,  she  Itnew 
by  heart ;  and  a  flush  of  light  rose  to  her  face  as 
she  looked. 

"It  is  my  papa — my  own  splendid  papa. 
And  there  isn't  one  among  them  all  who  iooki 
half  as  much  like  a  king  as  he !" 

"  That's  tme  enough  ;  and  as  he  is  the  best, 
BO  he  is  tbe  last.  I  suppose  they  will  be  han^ 
iug  up  yours  near  it  very  soon." 

"  But  my  mamma's,  where  is  that  ?  Is  not 
her  picture  here  as  well  as  the  rest  V 

Tom  looked  her,  and  suppressed  a  whistle. 

"  Your  mamma's — oh  !  I  never  saw  her.  I 
don't  know  anything  about  her.  ller  picture  is 
not  here,  at  all  events  !" 

"  She  is  dead !"  said  the  child,  in  her  manner 
of  grave  eimplioity.  "  I  never  saw  my  dear 
mamma !" 

"  Weil,  if  she  is  dead,  I  suppose  she  ean*t 
have  her  portrait  taken  very  easily,  and  thatac- 
euuiits  !  And  now,  as  I'm  about  tired  of  going 
from  one  room  to  another,  suppose  we  go  out 
and  have  a  look  at  the  old  oosivent  I  promised 
to  show  you.    What  do  you  think  of  the  house  V 

"  It  is  a  very  grea^  place !" 

"  And  the  Cliffes  have  been  very  great  peo- 
ple in  their  time,  too  ;  and  are  yet,  forthn*  maV' 
ter  :  best  blood  in  Sussex,  not  to  say  in  i  Zng' 
land." 

"  Are  you  a  Cliff-i  ?" 

"  No — more's  the  pity  I  I  am  nothing  but  a 
Shirley !" 

"  Is  that  girl  ?" 

"What  girl?" 

"Mademoiselle  Marguerite.  "We  three  are 
cousins,  I  kno^r,  but  I  can't  quite  understand 
it!" 

"  "Well,  look  here,  then,  and  I'll  demonstrate 
it  so  that  even  your  low  capacity  can  grapple 
with  the  subject.  Once  upon  a  time,  there 
were  three  brothers  by  the  name  of  Shirley : 
the  oldest  married  Lndy  Agnes  Cliffe,  and  he  is 
dead ;  the  second  married  my  mothet,  and 
they're  both  dead ;  the  third  married  Ma- 
demoiselle Marguerite's  mother,  and  they're 
both  dead,  too— dying  was  a  bad  habit  the 
Shirleys  had.  Don't  you  see — its  as  clear  aa 
mud." 

"  I  see  !  and  that  is  why  you  bbth  live  here." 

"That's  why!  And  Mag  would  have  had 
this  place,  only  you  turned  up — bad  job  for  her, 
you  see  !  Sir  Roland  offered  to  take  me  ;  but  as 
I  had  some  claim  on  Lady  Agnes,  and  none  at 
all  on  him,  she  wouldn't  bear  of  such  a  thing 
at  any  price." 

"  Sir  Roland  is  the  stout  gentleman  who  told 
me  to  call  him  uncle,  then,  and — grandmam- 
ma's brother.     Has  he  no  wife  ?" 

"None  now;  she's  defunct.  He  has  a  stepson 
up  at  Oxford,  LeioeBter  Shirley — Cliffe,  thej 
call  him,  and  just  the  kind  of  fellow  you  would 
like,  I  know.    Perhaps  he  will  marry  you  8om<V 


c 


80 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


w\ 


day  wliea  he  comes  home ;  it  would  be  just  the 
thing  fur  him !" 

"Murry  me!  He  will  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  suid  Miss  Yivia,  wilU  some  dignity,  and 
«  good  deal  of  asperity.  *'  I  shall  marry  no- 
body but  Claude.  1  wouldn't  have  anybody 
'%lse  fur  the  world." 
"Who  is  Claude?" 

"Why,  just  Claude — nothing  else;  but  he 
will  be  Marquis  de  St.  Hilary  some  day,  rud  I 
(rill  be  Madame  la  Marquise.  lie  is  a  great  deal 
handsomer  tlian  you,  and  I  like  him  ever  so 
muoh  better!' 

"J  don't  believe  it!  I'm  positive  you  like 
me  better  than  anybody  else  in  the  world,  or  at 
least  you  will  when  we  come  to  be  a  little  better 
acquainted.  Almost  every  little  girl  falls  in 
love  the  moment  she  claps  her  eyes  on  me !" 

Genevieve  lifted  her  blue  eyes,  flashing  with 
mingled  astonishment  and  indignation ;  but 
Tom's  face  was  perfectly  dismal  lu  its  serious- 
nass,  and  he  bore  her  angry  regards  without 
wincing. 

"  You  say  the  thing  that  is  not  true,  Monsieur 
Tom.  I  shall  never  love  you  as  long  as  I 
live!" 

"Then  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  yon  ought  to 
be  pitied  for  your  want  of  taste.  l3ut  it  is  just 
as  well :  for,  in  case  you  did  love  me,  it  would 
only  be  an  nH'nir  of  a  broken  heart,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ;  for  I  wouldn't  marry  you  if  you 
were  the  heiress  of  Cnstle  ClifFe  ten  times  over. 
I  know  a  cirl — I  saw  her  dancing  on  the  tight- 
^^ope  at  the  races  the  other  day — who  is  a  thou- 
sand times  prettier  than  you,  and  whom  I  in- 
tend making  Mrs.  S.  as  soon  as  I  get  out  of 
roundabout  jackets." 

Genevieve  looked  horrified.  In  her  peculiar 
simplicity,  she  took  every  word  for  gospel. 

"  A  tight-rope  dancer !  O  Tom !  what  will 
grandmamma  say  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  says !"  said  Tom,  des- 
perately,  thrusting   his  hands  in  his  pockets 
**A  tight-rope  <lancer  is  as  good  as  anybody 
else ;  and  I  won't  be  the  first  of  the  family, 
either,  who  has  tried  that  dodge." 

This  last  was  added  sotto  voce ;  but  the  little 
girl  heard  it,  and  tiiere  was  a  perceptihle  draw- 
ing up  of  the  sinnll  figure,  and  an  unmistakable 
erecting  of  the  proud  little  head. 

"  I  don't  see  how  any  Cliffe  could  make  such 
a  mesalliance,  and  I  don't  believe  any  of  them 
ever  did  it.  I  should  think  you  would  be 
ashamed  to  speak  of  such  a  thing,  Cousin 
Tom." 

"  Ton  despise  ballet-dancers,  thwi  ?" 

"Of  course." 

"  And  actresses,  also  ?" 

*^Mais  certainement !  It  is  all  the  same.  Claude 
often  said  he  would  die  before  he  would  make  a 
low  marriage  ;  and  so  would  I." 

Tom  thrust  his  hands  deeper  in  his  trowsers 
pocl<ets,  rolled  up  his  eyes  to  the  firmament, 


and  garve  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  j-rolonged 
whistle. 

"  And  this  little  princess,  with  her  ohin  up 
and  her  eyes  flashing,  is  the  daughter  of  a 
nameless  French  actress,"  was  his  thought. 

Then,  aloud: 

•'  You  seem  to  have  very  distinct  Ideas  on  the 
subject  of  matrimony,  Miss  Victoria.  Was  it 
in  your  convent  you  learned  them  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  But  Claude,  and  I,  and 
Ignacia  have  talked  of  it  a  thousand  times  in 
the  holidays.  And,  Cousin  Tom,  if  you  marry 
your  dancmg-girl,  how  will  you  live  f  You  are 
not  rich !" 

"No  ;  you  might  swear  that,  without  fear  of 
perjury.  But  my  wife  and  I  intend  to  set  up  a 
cigur-shop,  and  get  our  rich  relations  to  patron- 
ize us.  There,  don't  look  so  disgusted,  but  *Jok 
at  the  ruins." 

Whilst  talking,  they  hud  been  walking  along 
a  thickly-wooded  avenue,  and,  as  Tom  spoke, 
they  came  upon  a  semi-circular  space  of  green 
swurd,  with  the  ruins  of  an  old  convent  in  the 
centre.  Nothing  now  remained  but  an  immense 
stone  cross,  bearing  a  long  inscription  in  Latin, 
and  the  remains  of  one  superb  window  in  the 
onlyunruined  wall.  The  whole  place  was  over- 
run with  ivy  and  tangled  janiper,  even  the 
broad  stone  steps  that  led  up  to  what  once  had 
been  the  grand  altar. 

"  Look  at  those  stains,"  said  Tom,  pointing  to 
some  dark  spots  on  the  upper  step.  "  They  say 
that's  blood.  Lady  Edith  Cliflfe  was  the  lasl 
abbess  here,  and  she  was  murdered  on  those 
steps,  in  the  days  of  Thomas  Cromwell,  for  re-' 
fusing  to  take  the  Oath  of  Supremacy.  The 
sunsliine  and  storm  of  hundreds  of  years  have 
been  unable  to  remove  the  traces  of  the  crime. 
And  the  townfolk  say  a  tall  woman,  all  in  black 
and  white,  walks  here  on  moonlight  nights.  As 
I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
ghost,  I  cannot  vouch  for  that  part  of  the  story, 
out  I  can  show  you  her  grave.  They  buried 
her  down  here,  with  a  stike  through  her  heart ; ' 
and  the  place  is  called  the  '  Nun's  Grave'  from 
that  day  to  this." 

Genevieve  stooped  down  and  reverently  kiss- 
ed 'he  stained  stones. 

"  I  am  glad  I  am  a  Cliffe  !"  she  said,  as  she 
arose  and  followed  him  down  the  paved  aisle. 

The  grave  was  not  far  dif-l.int.  They  entered 
a  narrow  path,  with  dismal  yew  and  gloomy 
elm  interlacing  their  branches  overhead,  shut- 
ting out  the  summer  sunshine — a  spot  as  dark 
and  lonely  as  the  heart  of  an  old  primeval  for- 
est. Andf  at  the  foot  of  a  patriarchal  dryad  of 
yew  was  a  long  mound,  with  a  black  marble 
slab  at  the  bead,  without  name,  or  date,  or  in- 
scription. 

"Horrid  dismal  old  place  !— isn't  it?"  said 
Tom,  flinging  himself  on  the  grass.  "  But,  dis- 
mal or  not,  I  am  about  done  vp,  and  intend  to 
rest  here     Why,  what  is  the  oat   r?" 


» 


THE  HT^IRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFPE. 


SI 


For  Genevieve,  looking  down  at  t\.e  grass,  i 
ba4  suddenly  turned  of  a  gliuatly  wliiteuesa,  and 
sunk  duwii  in  n  violent  ireiuur   and   I'aiiitnesa 
aoross   ilie   niound.     Turn   sprung  up  in  dire 
alarm. 

••  Vivia,  Vivia  !     What  in  tlie  world  U  this?" 

Slifl  did  not  apeak. 

He  lifted  her  up,  and  she  clung  with  a  name- 
less  trembling  terror  to  hia  arm,  her  very  lips 
blanched  to  the  "'hiteneas  of  death. 

'*  Vivia,  what  under  heaven  is  this  f" 

The  p^le  lipa  parted. 

"  Nothing !"  she  said,  in  a  voioe  that  oould 
scarcely  be  heard.  "  Let  us  go  away  iVom 
this." 

He  drew  her  arm  within  hio,  and  led  her 
away,  mystified  beyond  expression.  But,  iiithe 
terrible  after-days,  when  the  "  Nun's  Grave  " 
lind  more  of  horror  for  him  than  Hades  itself, 
he  had  reason  to  remember  Yivia's  first  visit 

there.  

CHAPTER  IX. 

ylOTORIA      REOIA. 

Before  the  end  of  the  first  week,  the  fittle 
heiress  was  thoroughly  domesticated  at  Castle 
Gliffe.  Everybody  liked  her,  from  Lady  Agnes 
diiwn  to  the  kiiohen-mnids,  who  sometimes  had 
the  honor  of  dropping  her  a  courtesy,  and  re- 
ctiiviug  a  gracious  little  emile  in  return.  Lady 
Agnes  had  keen  eyes,  and  reading  her  like  a 
printed  book,  saw  that  the  little  girl  was  ariato- 
crat  to  the  core  of  iier  heart.  If  she  wept,  as 
slie  once  or  twice  found  occasion  to  do,  it  vras 
like  a  little  lady,  uoiseleaaly,  with  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes,  and  her  face  buried  in  her 
arm.  If  she  lauglied,  it  was  careless,  low,  and 
musical,  and  with  an  air  of  despiaing  laughter 
all  tiie  tiiihe.  She  never  romped  ;  she  never 
screamed  ;  she  was  never  rude.  Heaven  forbid  ! 
The  blue  ulood  o.'  the  Ciiifes  certainly  dowed 
with  proud  propriety  through  those  delicate 
veins.  The  girl  of  twelve,  too,  understood  it 
all,  as  the  duckling  understands  swimming,  by 
iAtuition,  and  was  as  radically  and  unaffectedly 
haughty  in  her  way  as  Lady  Agues  in  hers. 
She  was  proud  of  the  Cliffes,  and  of  their  lon^ 
pedigree  ;  proud  of  their  splendid  house  and  its 
splendid  surroundings ;  proud  of  her  stately 
grandmother ;  and  proudest  of  all  of  her  hand- 
some papa. 

"  The  child  is  well  named,"  said  Lady  Agnes, 
with  a  oonacious  smile.  She  is  Victoria — ex- 
actly like  her  namesake,  that  odd,  wild,  beauti- 
ful flower,  the  Victoria  Regia." 

Everybody  in  Cliftonlea  was  wild  to  see  the 
heiress  —  the  return  of  her  father  had  been 
nothing  to  this  furore ;  so  the  white  niualiu 
and  blue  ribbons  were  discarded  fur  brilliant 
silks  and  nodding  plumes,  and  Lady  Agne^  and 
Miss  Shirley  drove  through  the  town  in  a  grand 
barouche,  half-buried  among  amber-velvet  cush- 
ions, and  looking  like  a  full-blown  queen  and  a 
prineess  in  the  bud.    Certainly,  it  was  a  be- 


wildering change  for  the  little  gray-robed  pen- 
nonnaire  of  the  French  convent. 

It  was  a  hot,  sultry  September  after* 
noon,  with  a  high  mua,  a  brassy  sun,  and 
crimson  clouds  in  a  dull,  leaden  sky — a  Sat> 
urday  ailcrnouH,  and  a  half-holiday  with  Tom 
Shirley,  who  stood  before  the  portico  of  the  hall- 
door,  holding  the  bridles  of  two  ponies — one  his 
own,  the  other  Cousin  Victoria's.  This  latter 
was  a  perfect  miracle  of  Arabian  beauty,  snowy 
white,  slender-limbed,  arched-necked,  fiery- 
eyed,  full  of  spirit,  yet  gentle  as  a  lamb  to  a 
master-hand,  it  was  a  present  from  Sir  Roluud 
to  the  heiress  '>f  Castle  Cliffe,  and  had  been 
christened  by  that  small  young  lady,  "Claude"— ~ 
a  title  which  Tom  indignantly  repudiated  for  its 
former  one,  of  "  Leicester".  The  girl  and 
boy  were  bound  for  a  gallop  to  Sir  Roland's 
home,  Cliffewood,  a  distance  of  some  seven 
miles  ;  and  while  Tom  stood  holding  in  the  im- 
patient ponies,  the  massive  hall-door  was  tiirown 
open  by  the  obsequious  porter,  and  the  heiress 
herself  tripped  out. 

Tom  had  very  gallantly  told  her  once  that  the 
rope-dancer  was  a  thouaand  times  prettier  tnao 
she  ;  but  looking  at  her  now,  as  she  stood  for 
one  moment  on  the  topmost  step,  he  cried  in- 
wardly, " Pucavi!"  and  repented.  Certainly, 
nothing  could  have  been  lovelier — the  light, 
slender  figure  in  an  exquisitely-fitting  hubit  of 
blue ;  yellow  gauntlets  on  the  fairy  hands,  one 
of  which  lightly  lifted  her  flowing  skirt,  and  the 
other  poising  the  most  exquisite  of  riding-whips ; 
the  fiery  lances  of  sunshine  glancing  through 
the  Buuny  curls  flowing  to  the  waiat,  the  small 
black  riding-hut,  and  waving  plume  tied  with 
azure  ribbons ;  the  sunlight  flushing  in  her  bright 
blue  eyes,  and  kissing  the  rose-tint  on  her  pearly 
cheeks.  Yds,  Victoria  Shirley  was  pretty — a 
vcy  different-looking  girl  from  the  pale,  dim, 
colorless  Genevieve  who  had  arrived  a  little 
over  a  week  before.  And,  as  she  came  trip- 
ping down  the  steps,  planting  one  dainty  foot  in 
Tom's  palm,  and  springing  easily  into  her  saddle, 
hia  boy's  heart  gave  a  quick  bcund,  and  his 
pulses  an  electric  thrill.  Ue  leaped  on  his  own 
horae  ;  the  girl  smilingly  kissed  the  tips  of  her 
yellow  gauntlets  to  Lady  Agnes  in  her  cliamber- 
window,  and  they  dashed  away  in  the  t'^  .th  of 
the  wind,  her  curls  waving  behind  like  a  golden 
banner.  Vivia  rode  well — it  was  an  accomplish- 
ment she  had  learned  in  France  ;  :he  immense 
iron  gates  under  the  lofty  stone  arch  split  open 
at  their  approach,  and  away  they  dashed  through 
Cliftonlea.  All  the  town  flew  to  the  doors  an  I 
window,  and  gazed,  in  profound  admirat'an  and 
envy,  afler  the  twain  as  they  flew  by — the  bold, 
dark-eyed,  hark-haired,  manly  boy,  and  the  deli- 
cate fairy,  with  the  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair, 
beside  him.  The  high  wind  deepened  the  roses 
and  brightened  the  light  in  Vivia's  eyes,  until 
she  was  glowing  like  a  second  Aurora,  when  they 
leaped  off  their  horses  at  the  villa'a  gates.     This 


.r- 


TJNMASKED ;  OR, 


villa  WM  a  pretty  place— a  very  pretty  place, 
but  painfully  new  ;  for  which  reason  Vivia  did 
not  like  it  all.  The  grounJa  were  epaciotis  and 
beautifully  laid  out ;  the  villa  was  a  chef  d" autre 
of  got».io  arohiteoture,  but  it  had  been  built 
by  Sir  Roland  himself,  and  nobody  ever 
thought  of  ootniug  to  see  it.  Sir  Roland 
did  not  care,  for  he  liked  comfort  a  great 
deal  better  than  historio  interest  nnd  leaky 
roofs,  and  told  Lady  Agnes,  with  a  good-na- 
tured laugh,  when  she  spoke  of  it  in  ht-r  8Corn_ 
ful  way,  that  she  might  live  in  her  old  ruined 
eonvent  if  she  liked,  but  he  would  stick  to  his 
eommodious  villa.  Now  he  came  down  the 
grassy  lawn  to  meet  them,  and  welcomed  tbena 
with  oordiality  ;  for  tlie  new  heiress  wus  au  im- 
mense favorite  of  his  already. 

"  Aunt  Agnes  thought  it  would  do  Vio  good 
to  gallop  over,"  said  Tom,  switching  his  boot 
with  bis  whip.  "  So  here  we  are.  Hut  yo'i 
needn't  invito  us  to  stay  ;  for,  as  this  is  Saturday 
afternoon,  you  know  it  couldn't  be  heard  of!" 

"  Oh,  yes !"  said  Vio— o  name  which  Tom  had 
adopted  for  shortness  ;  "  we  ought  to  go  right 
back  ;  for  Tom  is  going  to  show  me  something 
wonderful  down  on  the  shore.  Why,  Unole  Ro- 
land, what  is  this  ?" 

They  had  entered  a  high,  cool  hall,  with  glass 
doors  thrown  open  at  each  end,  sl»owing  a  sweep- 
ing vista  of  lawns,  and  terraces,  and  shrubbery, 
rich  with  statues  and  portraits  ;  and  before  one 
of  these  the  speaker  had  made  so  sudden  a  halt 
that  the  two  others  stopped  also.  It  was  a  pic- 
ture, in  a  splendid  frame,  of  a  little  boy  some 
eight  years  old,  with  long,  bright  curls,  much 
the  same  as  her  own  ;  blue  eyes,  too,  but  so 
much  darker  than  hers  that  they  seemed  almost 
black ,  the  straight,  delicate  features  character- 
istic of  the  Cliffes,  and  n  smile  like  an  angel's. 
It  was  really  a  beautiful  face — mucli  more  so 
than  her  own  ;  and  the  girl  clasped  her  hands  in 
her  peculiar  manner,  and  looked  at  it  in  a  per- 
fect ecstasy. 

"Why,''  Tom  was  beginning  impetuously, 
"  where  did  you — "  when  Sir  Roland,  smilingly, 
oaught  his  arm  and  interposed. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Tom.    Little  boys  should 
'be  seen  and  not   heard.     Well,  Vic,   do   you 
know  who  that  is?" 

"  It  looks  like — it  does  look  like" — a  little 
•  doubtfully,  though — "  my  papa." 

"  So  it  does ;  the  forehead,  and  mouth,  and 
hair  are  alike,  exactly.  But  it  is  not  your 
papa.     Guess  again." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  I  hate  guessing.  Tell  me  who 
it  1»." 

"  It  is  a  portrait  of  my  stepson,  Leicester, 
taken  when  a  child  ;  and  the  reason  you  never 
saw  it  before  is,  it  has  been  getting  new-framed. 
Good-looking  little  fellow,  eh  I" 

*'  Oh,  it  is  beautiful !    It  is  an  angel !" 

Sir  Roland  and  Tom  both  laughed;  but 
•Tom's  vai  a  perfect  shout. 


'  ^oester  Cliffe  an  nngelf  O  ye  gods  I 
won't  I  tell  him  the  next  time  I  see  him ;  and 
he  the  veriest  scamp  that  ever  flogged  a  fag!'' 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Vic  I"  said  Sir  Roland, 
as  Vic  colored  with  mortification.  "  Leicester 
is  an  excellent  fellow ;  and,  when  he  comes  bomCf 
you  and  he  will  be  capital  friends,  I'm  sure.'' 

Vio  brightened  up  immediately. 

"  And  when  will  be  be  home.  Uncle  Roland  ?" 

"  That's  uncertain — perhaps  at  Christmas.' 

"Is  he  old?" 

"Considerably  stricken  in  years,  but  not 
quite  as  old  as  Methuselah's  cat,"  struck  in 
Tom.     "  He  is  eighteen." 

"  Does  he  look  like  that  now?" 

"  Except  that  all  those  young  lady-like  curls, 
and  that  innocent  expression,  and  those  short 
jackets  are  gone,  he  docs ;  and  then  he  is  as  tall 
as  a  May-pole,or  as  Tom  Shirley.  Come  in 
and  have  lunch." 

Sir  Roland  led  the  way  ;  and  after  luncheon 
the  cousins  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  to 
the  Castle.  The  sun  was  setting  in  an  oriflamme 
of  crimson  and  black,  and  the  wind  had  risen  to 
a  perfect  gale,  but  Tom  insisted  on  his  cousin 
aooompauying  hiia  to  the  shore,  nevertheless. 

"  1  won't  oeable  to  show  the  Dev — I  mean  the 
Demon's  Tower  until  next  Saturday,  unless  you 
come  now  :  so  be  off  Vic,  nnd  change  your  dress. 
It  is  worth  going  to  see,  I  can  tell  you  I" 

"Vio,  nothing  loth,  flew  ap  the  great  oaken 
staircase  with  its  gilded  balustrade,  to  her  own 
beautiful  rooru,  and  soon  reappeaied  in  a  gay 
silk  robe  and  black  velvet  basque.  As  she 
joined  Tom  in  the  avenue,  she  recoiled,  in  sur- 
prise and  displeasure,  to  see  that  Margaret  wap 
with  him. 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Vic,"  whispered  Tom,  giv- 
ing her  a  coaxing  pinch.  "  She  was  sitting 
moping  like  an  old  hen  with  the  distemper,  un- 
der the  trees,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  only  an 
act  of  Christian  politeness  to  a^>k  her.  Come  on, 
she  won't  eat  you  ;  come  on,  Mag  I" 

Tom's  long  legs  measured  off  the  ground  as 
if  he  were  shod  with  seven-leagued  boots ;  and 
the  two  girls,  running  breathlessly  at  his  side, 
had  enough  to  do  to  keep  up  with  him.  The 
shore  was  about  a  half-mile  distant,  but  he 
knew  lots  of  short  cuts  through  the  trees  ;  and 
Itefore  long  th'-y  were  on  tlie  sands  and  scram- 
bling over  the  rocks,  Tom  holding  Vic's  hand, 
and  Margaret  making  her  way  in  the  best  man- 
ner she  could,  with  now  and  then  an  encourag- 
ing word  from  him.  The  sky  looked  dark  and 
menacing,  the  wind  raged  over  the  heaving  sea, 
and  the  surf  waslied  the  rooks,  far  out,  in  great 
billows  of  foam. 

"  Lo-^''  there !"  said  Tom,  pointing  to  som**- 
thing  that  really  looked  like  a  huge  mass  oi 
stone  tower.  "  That's  the  Demon's  Tower,  and 
they  call  tliat  the  Storm  Bar  beyond  it  We  can 
I  walk  to  it  now,  because  the  tide  is  low,  but  any 
one  caught  thereat  high  water  would  be  drown- 


ye  gods! 

uim;  And 
id  a  fag!'* 
■i\r  Roland. 

Leicester 
>inea  borne, 


m  sure/' 

e  Roland?" 
iristmas.' 

I,    but  not 
Btruok  in 


7-like  ourlB, 

those  Bhort 

he  ia  as  tall 

Come   in 

er  luncheon 
ind  rode  to 
in  oriflamme 
had  risen  to 
n  bia  cousin 
rerthelesB. 
—I  mean  the 
r,  unless  you 
e  your  dress. 
?ou  I" 

great  oaken 
,  to  her  own 
ed  in  a  gay 
ue.  As  she 
Diled,  in  sur- 
[argaret  wap 

3d  Tom,  giv- 
was  sitting 
stemper,  un- 
id  be  only  an 
r.  Come  on, 
!" 

le  ground  as 
1  boots ;  and 
at  bia  side, 
li  him.  The 
;ant,  but  he 
e  trees  ;  and 
s  and  scram- 
;  Vic's  hand, 
tie  best  man- 
an  enoourag- 
:ed  dark  and 
I  heaving  sea, 
out,  in  great 

ing  to  sonit. 
luge  mass  oi 
's  Tower,  and 
id  it  We  can 
low,  botany 
lid  be  drown- 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFPE. 


88 


ed  for  certain,  nnleBS  it  was  an  uncommon 
Bwiiiiuier.  There's  uo  ddnger  now,  though,  as 
ic'd  far  out.     So  make  haete,  and  come  along." 

But  over  the  slippery  rocks  aud  siiuiy  sea- 
weed Vic  could  not  '*  come  along"  at  all.  Seeing 
which,  Tom  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  with  aa  much 
ceremony  aud  difficulty  as  if  she  had  beeu  a 
kitten  ;  and  calliiit<  to  Margaret  to  mind  her  eye, 
and  not  break  her  neck,  bounded  from  jug  to 
Jag  witli  as  much  ease  as  a  goat.  Mui-garet, 
slipping,  and  falling,  aud  rising  again,  followed 
patiently  on,  and  iu  fifte<^n  minutes  they  were 
m  the  cavern,  and  Vic  was  standing,  laughing 
and  breathless,  on  her  own  pedals  ouce  more. 

It  was  in  reality  a  tower  without  a  top  ;  for 
8om<^  twenty  feet  above  them  they  could  sec  the 
dull,  leaden  sky,  and  the  sides  were  as  steep,  and 
perpendicular,  and  nnciimbabie  as  the  walla 
of  a  house.  The  eaverc  was  sufficiently  spa- 
cious ;  and  opposite  the  low  miturul  archway  by 
which  they  entered  were  half  a  dozen  rougb 
steps  cut  in  the  rooks,  and  above  them  was  a 
kind  of  seat  made  by  a  projecting  stone.  The 
place  was  filled  with  hollow,  weird  sounds,  some- 
thing between  the  sound  we  hear  iu  sea-shelU 
and  the  mournful  sighing  of  an  seolian  harp, 
and  the  effect  altogether  was  unspeakably  wild 
and  melancholy.  Again  Vic  clasped  her  hands, 
this  time  in  mingled  awe  aud  delight. 

"  What  a  place!  How  the  sea  and  wind  roar 
among  the  rocks.     I  could  stay  here  forever !' 

'*  I  have  oftien  been  here  for  hours  on  a 
stretch  with  Leicester  Cliffe,"  said  Tom.  "  We 
cut  those  steps  in  the  rock  ;  and,  when  we  were 
little  shavers,  he  used  to  play  Robinson  Crusoe, 
aud  I,  Man  Friday.  We  named  it  Robinson 
Crusoe's  Castle  ;  but  that  was  too  long  for  every 
day  :  so  the  people  in  Lower  Cliffe — the  fishing 
village  over  there — called  it  the  Devil's  Tower. 
Vio,  sing  a  song,  and  hear  how  your  voice  will 
echo  round  those  stone  walls !" 

•'But,"  said  Margaret,  •'  I  don't  think  it's  safe 
to  stay  here,  Tom.  You  know,  when  the  tide 
rises  its  fills  this  place  nearly  to  the  top,  and 
would  drown  us  all !" 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Maggie  ;  there's  no  dan- 
ger, I  tell  you  !  Vic,  get  up  in  Robinson  Cru- 
soe's seat,  and  I'll  be  Man  Friday  again,  and  lie 
here  i>t  your  feet." 

Vic  got  up  the  steps,  and  seated  herself  on 
the  stone  ledge  ;  Tom  flung  himself  on  the  stone 
floor,  and  Margaret  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  dry 
seaweed  in  the  corner.  Then  Vic  sang  some 
wild  Venetian  barcarole,  that  echoed  and  re- 
echoed, and  rang  oat  on  the  wind,  in  a  way 
that  equally  ;;imazed  and  delighted  her.  Again 
and  again  she  sang,  fascinated  by  the  wild  and 
beautiful  echo,  and  Tom  joined  in  loud  choruses 
of  his  own,  and  Margaret  listened  seemingly 
quite  as  much  delighted  as  they,  until  suddenly, 
in  the  midst  of  the  loudest  strain,  she  sprang  to 
her  feet  with  a  sharp  cry. 

"  Tom !  Tom  I  the  tide  is  unon  ub  !" 


Inetautly  Tom  was  on  his  feet,  as  if  be  were 

made  from  head  to  heel  of  spring-Bteel,  and  Out 

of  the  black  arch.     For  nearly  two  yards,  the 

I  epace  before  the  archway  waa  clear  of  the  aurf ; 

I  but,  owing  to  a  peculiar  curve  in  the  shore,  the 

Tower  liad  become  an  ibland,  and  was  almost 

I  encircled  by  the  foaming  waves.    The  dull  day 

■  was  darkening,  too  ;  the  fierce  blast  dashed  the 

;  epray  up  in  his  eyes,  aud  iu  onu  frantic  glance 

'  he  saw  that  escape  was  impossible.     Ue  could 

not  swim  to  the  shore  in  that  surf ;  neither  he 

nor  they  could  climb  up  the  steep  sides  of  the 

cavern,  and  they  all  must  drown  where  they 

were.     Not  for  himself  did  he  care — brave  Tom 

never  thought  of  himself  iu  that  moment,  nor 

even  of  Margaret,  only  of  Vic.     In  an  instau'., 

he  was  back  again,  aud  kneeling  at  her  feet  on 

the  Btone  floor. 

"  I  promised  to  protect  you !"  be  cried  out, 
"  and  see  how  I  have  kept  my  word !" 

"  Tom,  is  it  true  ?   Can  we  not  escape  ?" 

"  No ;  the  sea  is  around  us  on  every  hand, 
and  in  twenty  minutes  will  be  over  that  arch 
and  over  our  beads !  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  bt^u 
struck  dead  before  ever  I  brought  you  here  I" 

"  And  can  we  do  nothing,"  said  Vic,  clasping 
her  bands— always  her  impulse.  "  If  we  could 
only  climb  to  the  top." 

Affain  Tom  bounded  to  bis  feet. 

"  I  will  try !  There  may  be  a  rope  there,  and 
it  is  a  chance,  after  all !" 

In  a  twinkling  he  was  at  the  top  of  Robinson's 
seat,  and  clutching  frautloally  at  invisible  frag- 
ments of  rock,  to  help  him  up  the  steep  ascent. 
But  ill  vain  ;  worse  than  ia  vain.  Neither  sailor 
nor  monkey  could  have  climbed  up  there,  and, 
with  a  sharp  cry,  he  missed  his  hold,  and  was 
hurled  bacK,  stunned  and  senseless,  to  the 
floor.  The  salt  spray  came  dashing  in  their 
faces  as  they  knelt  beside  him.  Margaret 
shrieked,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  cowered  down  ;  and  "  0  Sancta  Maria,  Mater 
Dei,  ora  pro  nobis  peccaloris,  nunc  et  in  hora  moT' 
tis  nostra  /"  murmured  the  pale  lips  of  the 
French  girl. 

And  still  the  waters  rose  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

BARBARA. 

The  Cliftonlea  races  were  over  and  well  over, 
but  bi;  least  one-third  of  the  pleasure-seekers 
went  home  disappointed.  The  races  had  been 
successful ;  the  weather  propitious ;  but  one 
great  point  of  attraction  had  mysteriously  dis- 
appeared— after  the  first  day,  ♦^^he  Infant  Venus 
vanished  and  was  seen  uo  mon  .  The  mob  had 
gone  wild  about  her,  and  had  besieged  the  thea- 
tre clamorously  next  day  .  but  when  another  and 
very  clumsy  Venus  was  substituted,  and  she 
was  not  to  be  found,  the  manager  nearly  had 
his  theatre  pulled  down  about  his  ears,  in  their 
angry  disappointment  None  could  tell  what 
))ad  Decome  of  her,  except,  perhaps,  Mr.  Sweei 


84 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


— wbieb  prudent  gentl<tman  cnobauted  tbe  mca- 

S round  no  luiiser  with  his  preseuoe  but  duvuted 
iuaulf  ezoluaiYciy  to  a  little  busintiu  uf  hu 
own. 

It  wu  a  BwelteriDg  August  evening.  Tbe  sun, 
tbat  had  tlifobbed  and  bbized  uU  day  like  a 
great  heart  of  fire  in  a  uloudteits  Bky,  was  going 
ttlowly  down  b«hiud  the  iSuasL-z  hill«,  but  a  few 
vagrant  wandering  aunbeaius  lingered  still  on 
tbe  open  window,  and  along  the  «ar[  etleas  tloor, 
in  an  upper  room  in  the  Cliife  Arms.  It  wua  a 
small  room,  with  an  attic  roof — stifling  hot  just 
now,  and  tilled  with  reeking  fumes  uf  tobacco  ; 
for  Mr.   Feter  Black  sat  near  the  empty  fire- 

{)iaoe,  smoking  like  a  vuloami.    There  were  two 
adies  in  the  ruum  ;   but,  despite  their  presence 
and  tbe  suifocating  atmosphere,  Mr.  black  kept 
bis  hat  on,  tor  tbe  wearing  uf  which  article  of 
dress  be  partly  atoned  by  being  <a    bis  shirt- 
sleeves, and  very  much  out  at  tbe  elbows  at  that. 
One  of  these  ladies,  rather  stricken  in  years,  ex- 
ceedingly crooked,  exceedingly  yelli-,  and  with 
an  exceedingly  «harp  and  vicioud  expression  ge 
nerally,  sat  on  a  low  stool  opposite  bim;  her  skm- 
ny  elbows  on  ber  knees,  her  skinny  chin  in  her 
bands,  aud  ber  small,  rat-like  eyes    transfixing 
bim  witb  an  unwinking    stare.     The    second 
lady — a  youthful  angel  arrayed  in  f«ded  gauze, 
ornamented  witb  tawdry  ribbons  aud  tarnished 
tinsel — stood  by  the  open  window,    trying  to 
cntch  tbe  slightest  breeze,  but  no  breeze  stirred 
tbe  stagnant  air  of  tbe  sweltering  August  after- 
noon,  It  was  the  Infant  Venus,  of  course — look- 
ing like  anything  just  now,  however,  but  a  Ve- 
nus, in    ber     babby  dress,  ber  uncombed  and 
tangled  profusion  of  hair,  and  the  scowl,  tbe 
unmistakable  scowl,  tbat  darkened  tbe  pretty 
face.    There  never  was  greater  nonsense  than 
tbat  trite  old  adage  of"  beauty  unadorned  being 
adorned  tbe   most".    Beauty  in  satin  and  dia- 
monds is  infinitely  more  beautiful  than  the  same 
in  linsey-woolsey  ,  and  tbe  caterpillar  witii  sulky 
face  and  frowsed  hair,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow, was  no  more  like  tbe  golden  butterfly, 
wreathed  and  smiling  on  tbe  tight-rope,  than  a 
real  caterpillar  is  like  a  real  butterfly.     In  fact, 
none  of  the  three  appeared  to  be  in  tbe  beat  of 
bumors  :  tbe  man  looked  dogt^ed  and  scowling  ; 
tbe  old  woman,  tierce  and  wrathful,  and  tbe  girl, 
gloomy  and  sullen.    They  bad  been  in  exactly 
the  same  position  for  at  least  two  hours  with- 
out speaking,  when  tbe  girl  suddenly  turned 
round  from  the  window,  witb  flashing  eyes  nnd 
fiery  face. 

"  Father,  1  want  to  know  bow  long  we  are  to 
be  kept  roasting  alive  in  this  place  ?  If  you 
don't  let  me  out,  I  will  jump  out  of  tbe  window 
to-nigbt,  though  I  break  my  neck  for  it !" 

"  Do,  and  be ,"  growled  Mr.  Black,  surli- 
ly, without  looking  up. 

"  What  have  we  come  here  for  at  all  ?  Why 
liave  we  left  the  theatre  ?" 

"Find  out!"  aan^  Mr.  Black,  laconically. 


The  girl's  eyes  flamed,  and  hvr  bands  oleneh 
ed,  but  the  uld  wuiuan  iuterpused. 

"  Barbara,  yuu're  a  fuol !  and  fools  ask  inor6 
questions  in  a  minute  than  a  wise  man  con  an> 
Bwer  ill  a  day.  7/e  have  come  here  fur  your 
guod,  and — tuere's  a  knock,  open  the  dour." 

"It's  that  yellow  uld  ogre  again,"  muttered 
Barbara,  going  to  the  dour.  "  I  know  he's  at 
the  buttuiu  01  all  this,  and  I  should  like  to 
scratch  hia  eyes  out — I  should  I" 

She  uniucKed  the  dour  o  ohe  uttered  tbe  gen- 
tle wish  ;  and  tbe  yelluw  old  ogre,  in  tbe  person 
of  the  ever-smiling  Mr.  Sweet,  stepped  in.  Cer- 
tainly be  was  smiling  just  now — quite  radiantly, 
in  fact ;  and  his  waistcoat,  and  whiskers,  and 
hair,  and  profusion  of  jewelry,  seemed  to  scin- 
tillate sparks  of  sunshine  and  smile,  too. 

"  And  bow  does  my  obarmintf  little  Venus 
find  herself  this  warm  evening — blooming  as  a 
roae-bud,  I  hope" — he  began,  ohuokling  lier 
playfully  under  the  chin — "  and  tbe  dear  old 
lady  quite  well  and  cheerful,  I  trust ;  and  yon, 
my  dear  old  boy,  always  smoking  and  enjoying 
yourself  after  your  own  iiashioa.  Uow  uu  you 
do,  all  r 

By  way  of  answer,  tbe  charming  little  Venus 
wrenched  herself  angrily  from  bis  grasp ;  the 
dee  old  lady  gave  him  a  malignant  glance  out 
of  uer  weird  eyes,  and  tbe  dear  old  boy  smoked 
on  witb  a  steady  scowl,  and  never  looked  up. 

"  All  silent  I"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  drawing  up  a 
chair,  and  looking  silently  round.  "  Why,  that's 
odd,  tool  Barbara,  my  dear,  will  you  tell  me 
what  is  tbe  matter  t" 

Barbara  faced  round  from  tbe  window  with 
rather  discomposing  suddenness,  not  to  say 
fierceness. 

"  Tbe  matter  is,  Mr.  Sweet,  that  Tm  about 
tired  of  being  cooped  up  in  this  hot  hole  ;  and 
if  I  don't  get  out  by  fair  means,  I  will  by  foul, 
and  that  before  long.  What  have  you  brought 
us  here  for.  You  needn't  deny  it,  I  know  you 
have  brought  us  here!" 

"  Quite  right.  Miss  Barbara.     It  was  I !" 

"  Then  I  wish  you  bad  just  minded  your  own 
business,  and  lei  us  alone.  Come,  let  me  out, 
or  I  vow  I  shall  jump  out  of  the  window,  if  I 
break  every  bone  in  my  body.'' 

"  My  dear  Miss  Barbara,  1  admire  your  spirit 
and  courage,  but  let  us  do  nothing  rash.  If  I 
have  brought  you  here,  it  is  for  your  good,  and 
you  will  thank  me  for  it  one  day  I" 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  uf  the  kind  ;  and  you 
won't  thank  yourself  eitiier,  if  you  don't  let  me 
me  out  pretty  soon.  What  do  you  mean,  sir, 
by  interfering  with  ua,  when  we  weren't  interfer- 
ing with  you?" 

"  Barbara,  hold  your  tongue !"  agftin  the  old 
lady  sharply  cut  in.  "  Iler  tongue  ia  lunger 
than  the  reat  uf  her  body,  Mr.  Sweet,  and  you 
mua'n't  mind  ber.  How  dare  you  speuk  so  dis- 
respectful to  the  gentleman,  you  minx!  " 

'*  Vou  needn't  call  either  of  us  names,  grand* 


motlier,"  i 
old  lady  I 
of  ■  ber  wi 
you  and  f 
derud  abi» 
minding  li 

Mr.     P. 
chuckled 
his  small 
looked  at 

'•  Oeiitij 
too  fust  I 
brought  y 
good.  I  i 
aud  who  ( 
mined  yoi 
low  drudg 
lady,  aihl 
a  great  de 
geruus  a  I 
lad/  yet !' 

"How? 
all  of  her  i 

"  Well, 
cated ;  yoi 
ble  8ituati( 
of  strolliii| 
grown  up, 
wife!' 

Mr.  Swe 
shrugged  I 
itidnitii  CO 

♦•  O  thau 
that  case, 
Sue  prom 
tlieiu,  aud 

"  My  da 
tai^e  I  hi 
dreases  yo 
will  make, 
awar'i  this 
the  world, 
pose  of  te 
night.  Y 
self  in  ret 
future  b«<i 

Mr.  Bill 
looked  up 

"  Wher 

"  Down 
below  het 
cottage  «\ 
com  for  tab 

'•  And  t 
perhaps  i^ 
of  me !  1 
but  1  don 

"My  c 
can  help 
the  oldest 
apostles 
know." 

•■  1  don 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


m 


ittle  Venua 


motluT,"  uM  BarLaru,  quite  as  elinrpl y  ns  tbe 
uld  laJy  berMlf,  «ud  with  a  spectral  flash  out 
uf'her  weird  dark  «yes.  "1  shuuldu't  tliiuic 
you  and  tath«r  wuuid  be  suoli  fouls  as  tu  be  or- 
ilurud  abiiut  by  au  old  lawyer,  wliu  had  butter  be 
ujiiidiiig  his  owu  affairs,  it  he  has  auy  tu  miud  !" 

Mr.  Peter  Uluck,  smukiug  siulidly,  still 
ehuokled  grimly  uuder  !iis  unshaveu  beard  ut 
his  smull  daughter's  large  spirit ;  aud  Mr.  Sweet 
looked  at  her  witii  mild  reuruaoh. 

''Uuutly,  gently,  Miss  Barbara  I  you  think 
too  fast !  As  you  have  guessed,  it  is  1  who  hav« 
brouglit  you  here,  and  it  is,  I  repeat,  for  your 
good.  I  snw  you  at  the  races,  and  liked  you — 
aud  who  could  help  doing  that? — aud  I  deter- 
mined you  should  not  pass  your  life  in  such 
low  drudgery*;  for  I  swear  you  were  born  for  a 
lady,  aihi  shall  be  one  I  Miss  Barbara,  you  are 
a  great  deal  too  beautiful  for  so  public  aud  dan- 
gerous a  life,  aud  I  repeat  again,  you  shall  be  a 
lady  yet !" 

"How?"  said  Barbara,  a  httle  mollified,  like 
all  of  her  sex,  by  the  flatterv. 

''Well,  in  the  first  place,  you  shall  bo  edu- 
cated ;  your  father  stiall  have  a  more  respecta- 
ble situation  than  that  of  ticket-porter  to  a  band 
of  strolling  players  ;  and,  lastly,  when  you  have 
grown  up,  I  shall  perhaps  make  you — my  little 
wife!' 

Mr.  Sweet  laughed  pleasantly,  but  Barbara 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  turned  away  with 
iuiinitii  contempt. 

'-  O  thank  you !  I  shall  never  be  a  lady  in 
that  case,  I  am  afraid  !  You  may  keep  your 
nue  promises,  Mr.  Swet't,  for  those  who  like 
theru,  and  let  me  go  back  to  the  theatre." 

"My  dear  child,  when  you  see  the  pretty  cot- 
tai^e  I  have  for  you  to  live  in,  and  the  tine 
dresse;!  you  shall  have,  and  all  the  friends  you 
will  make,  you  will  think  differently  of  it.  I  am 
awar'j  this  is  not  the  most  comfortable  place  in 
tlie  world,  but  I  came  up  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  telling  you  you  are  to  leave  here  to- 
night. Yes,  my  good  Black,  you  will  hold  your- 
self ia  readiuess  to-night  to  quit  tnis  for  your 
future  h«<iie." 

Mr.  Black  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and 
looked  up  for  the  first  time. 

"  Where's  that ?'  he  gruffly  asked. 

"Down  in  Tower  ClittV,  the  fishing-village 
below  here,  aud  I  have  found  you  the  nicest 
cottage  ever  you  saw,  where  you  can  live  as 
comfortably  as  a  king  !" 

*•  And  that  respectable  occupation  of  yours — 
perhaps  it's  a  lawyer's  clerk  you  want  to  make 
of  me!  I'm  not  over  partrisular.  Lord  knows! 
but  1  don't  want  to  come  to  that !" 

"  My  dear  Black,  don't  be  sarcastic,  if  you 
can  help  it !  Your  occupation  shall  be  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  respectable — a  profession 
apostles  followed — that  of  a  fisborraan,  you 
know." 

*'  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  apostles," 


said  Mr.  Black,  gruffly,  and  I  know  less  about 
being  a  fishermau.  "  Why  don't  you  set  me  up 
for  a  milliner,  or  a  lady's  luaid,  at  ouue?" 

"  My  dear  friend,  1  am  afraid  you  got  out  of 
tlie  wrung  side  of  the  bed  this  muruing,  you're  so 
uucommuu  savage  ;  but  1  can  uverluuk  that  aud 
the  few  uiher  delects  yuu  are  troubled  with,  as 
people  overlook  spots  on  the  sun.  As  to  the 
fishing,  you  II  soon  learn  all  you  want  to  know, 
which  Won't  be  much ;  aud  as  yuu  will  never 
want  a  guinea  while  I  have  one  in  my  purse, 
you  need  uever  shorten  your  days  by  hard 
work.  In  three  hours  from  now — that  is,  at  nine 
o'clock— 1  will  be  herewith  a  conveyance  to 
bear  yuu  tu  yuur  new  home.  Aud  now,"  said 
Mr.  8weet,  rising,  "  as  much  as  I  regret  it,  1 
must  tear  myself  away  ;  for  I  have  an  engage- 
ment with  uiy  lady  at  the  Castle  in  half  an  ijour. 
By  the  way,  have  you  heard  the  news  of  what 
happened  at  the  Castle  the  other  day  ?" 

"How  should  we  hear  it?"  said  Mr.  Black, 
sulkily.  "  Do  you  suppose  the  birds  of  the  air 
would  fly  in  with  uuws  ;  and  yoo  took  precious 
good  care  that  none  should  reach  us  auy  utlier 
way !" 

"True!  I  might  have  known  you  would  not 
hear  it,  but  it  is  a  mere  trifle  after  all.  The 
only  son  uf  Lady  Agnes  Shirley  has  returned 
home,  after  au  aosence  of  twelve  years,  and  all 
Cliftonlea  is  ringing  with  the  news.  Perhaps 
you  would  lik>*  to  hear  the  story,  my  good  Ju- 
dith," said  Mr.  Sweet,  leaning  smilingly  over 
his  chair,  and  fixing  his  eyes  full  on  the  skinny 
face  of  the  old  woniaa  "  It  is  quite  a  romance, 
I  assure  you.  A  little  over  thirteen  years  ago, 
this  yuung  man,  Ciiffe  Shirley,  made  a  low 
marriage,  a  French  actress,  very  good,  very 
pretty,  but  a  nobody,  you  know.  Actresses  are 
always  nobodies!" 

"And  lawyers  are  something  worse !"  inter- 
rupted Barbara,  facing  indignantly  round.  "  I 
would  thank  you  to  miud  what  you  say  about 
actresses,  Mr.  Sweet." 

The  lawyer  bowed  in  deprecation  to  the  little 
vixen. 

"  Your  pardon.  Miss  Barbara.  I  bold  my- 
self rebuked.  When  my  lady  heard  the  story, 
her  wrath,  I  am,  told,  was  terrific.  She  comes 
of  an  old  and  fiery  race,  you  see,  and  it  was  nn 
undeard  of  atrocity  to  mix  the  blood  of  the 
Ciiffes  with  the  plebeian  puddle  of  a  French 
actress,  so  this  only  son  and  heir  was  cast  off. 
Then  came  righteous  retribution  for  the  sin 
against  society  he  had  committed  ;  the  artful 
actress  died,  the  young  man  fled  into  voluntary 
exile  in  India,  to  kill  natives  and  do  penance 
for  his  sins,  and  after  spending  twelve  years  in 
these  pleasant  pursuits,  he  has  unexpectedly  re- 
turned home,  and  been  received  by  the  great 
lady  of  Castle  Ciiffe  with  open  arms !" 

''  0  grandmother  !"  cried  Barbara,  with  ani- 
mation, "  that  mu'it  have  been  the  lady  and 
gentleuian  we  saw  driving  past  in  the  grqipd  car- 


c 


M 


UNMASKED:  OR, 


ringe  jostcrilay.  There  were  four  beautiful 
lior««i,  ttll  shining  witii  lilver,  and  a  ooaohamn 
atkl  fuotuiaa  in  livery,  and  the  Imly  wuh  dreiHuJ 
■pieudiJiy,  and  tho  guulltiiuun  was — oh  I  ev«ir  so 
hftndaoiuu.  Duu't  yuu  rt-uietubvr,  gruudiuuth- 
er  r 

But  grnndmothcr,  with  Ucr  eyes  fixed  as  if 
riiBcinulu'l  oti  the  ohuerlui  fiioo  uf  the  uurrulor, 
her  eld  hands  trembling,  and  her  li]i8  sposiuod- 
icully  twiiciiing,  wus  crouching  A^iny  in  the 
chinincy-oorncr,  and  answervd  nowr  a  word. 
Mr.  Swuut  turned  to  the  girl,  and  took  it  tipou 
biuiself  to  answer. 

"  Kight,  Miss  Barbara.  It  was  Lady  Agnes 
and  Colonel  Shirley ;  uo  one  else  in  (Jliftonlea 
bus  Hiich  un  equipage  ns  timt;  but  your  grand- 
tuolher  will  like  to  liear  the  rest  of  tlio  storv- 

"There  Is  a  vequel,  uiy  good  Jr.dith.  ^fhe 
young  soldier  nnd  the  pretty  ii'.tretis  had  a 
daughter  ;  and  the  child,  after  ruinuining  six 
years  in  England,  was  taken  away  bv  its  fatiier 
nnd  placed  in  n  French  convent.  Ihere  it  lias 
renmined  ever  since  ;  and  yesterday  two  mesc'in- 
gers  were  sent  to  Paris  to  bring  Iter  honae, 
and  the  child  of  the  French  actress  is  now  the 
heiress  of  Costle  Clitfe  I  Miss  Barbara,  how 
Would  you  like  to  be  in  her  place?'' 

"  You  needn't  ask.  I  would  give  half  my 
life  to  be  a  lady  for  one  day  !" 

Mr.  Sweet  laughed  and  turned  to  go  ;  and  old 
Judith,  crouching  into  the  ohininey-corner, 
shook  ns  she  heard  it  like  one  striokeu  with 
palsy 

"  Neve''  mind,  my  pretty  little  Barbara,  you 
shall  be  one  some  day,  or  I'll  not,  be  a  living 
man.  And  now  you  iiad  Itoter  see  to  your 
grandmother ;  I  am  afraid  the  dear  old  lady  is 
Dot  very  well." 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THR     FIRST     TIME. 

The  village  of  Lower  Cliffe  was  a  collection 
of  about  twenty  wretched  cottages,  nestled 
away  under  bleak,  craggy  rockB,  that  sheltered 
them  from  the  broiling  sea-side  sum.  About  a 
dozen  yards  from  the  one  straggling  road  win<l- 
ing  nway  among  rocks  and  jutting  crags,  was 
the  lont;,  sandy  beach,  where  the  fishermen 
mended  their  nets  in  the  sunny  summer-days, 
and  where  their  fishing-boats  were  moored, 
and  away  beyond  it  spread  the  blue  and  bound- 
less  sea.  To  the  right,  the  rough,  irregular 
road  lost  itself  in  a  mist  of  wet  maishes  and 
swampy  wastes,  covered  with  tall  rank  grass, 
weedy  flowers — blue,  and  yellow,  and  flame- 
colored— and  where  the  cattle  grazed  on  the 
rank  herbage  all  day  long.  To  the  left,  was 
piled  up  miniature  hills  of  sea-weedy  rooks, 
with  tall,  in  their  midst,  the  Demon's  Tower ; 
and  in  the  back-ground,  the  sloping  upland  was 
bounded  by  the  high  wall  that  inclosod  the  park- 
grounds  and  preserves  of  the  castle.  The  vil- 
lage belonged  to  Liidy  Agnes  Shirley  ;  but  that 


august  lady  had  never  set  her  foot  therein.  In 
a  grand  and  lofty  sort  of  way  shu  was  aware  of 
such  a  place,  when  her  agent,  Mr.  Sw«et  paid  in 
the  rents  ;  and  she  nourouly  knew  anything  more 
about  it  lliun  she  did  of  any  Hottentot  village 
in  Southern  Africa.  And  yet  it  was  down  here 
in  this  obscure  place  that  lier  lawyer  located 
the  little  dancing-girl  whom  he  had  promised 
one  day  to  make  a  lady. 

The  Jelighlful  little  cottage  ho  had  mentioned 
to  Mr.  Black  stood  away  by  itself  at  the  end  of 
the  village  farthest  trom  the  marshes,  and 
neareHt  the  park-gate — a  little,  whitewashed, 
one-story  affair,  with  its  solitary  door  facing  the 
sea,  and  opening  immediately  into  the  only 
large  room  of  the  house.  The  place  had  been 
newly  furnished  by  the  benevolent  lawyer  be- 
fore his  prot^g^s  came  there  ;  and  tliis  room 
was  kitchen,  sittine  room,  dining-room,  and 
parlor,  all  in  one.  'ihere  were  two  small  bed- 
rooms opening  off  it— one  occupied  by  the  old 
woman  Judith,  the  other  by  Barbara  ;  and  Mr. 
Peter  Black  courted  repose  in  a  loft  above. 

The  little  dancing-girl,  much  as  she  had  re- 
gretted being  taken  away  from  her  theatre  at 
firdt,  grew  reconciled  to  her  new  home  in  a 
wonderfully  short  space  of  time.  Mr.  Sweet  had 
given  her  n  boat— the  daintiest  little  skiff  that 
ever  was  seen — painted  black,  with  a  crimson 
streak  running  round  it,  and  the  name  "  Barba- 
ra" printed  in  orinisou  letters  on  the  stern 
And  before  she  had  been  living  two  days  in  th« 
cottage,  Barbara  had  learned  to  row.  There 
must  have  been  some  wild  blood  in  the  girl's 
veins,  for  she  lived  out  of  doors  from  morning 
till  night,  like  a  gipsy — climbing  up  impassable 
places  like  a  cat — ^makiug  tlio  ucquuintunoe  of 
everybody  in  the  village,  and  taking  to  the 
water  like  a  duck.  Out  long  before  tlie  sun 
rose  red  over  the  sea,  and  out  until  the  stars 
span  '"d  on  the  waves,  the  child,  who  had  been 
cooped  up  all  her  life  in  dingy,  grimy  city  walls, 
drank  in  the  resounding  sea-side  wind,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  elixir  of  life,  went  dancing  over 
the  marshes  gathering  bouquets  of  ttie  tall  rank 
reedy  blossoms,  and  blue  rockets,  singing  ns 
she  went,  springing  from  jag  to  jag  along  the 
dizzy  cliffs,  with  the  wind  in  her  teeth,  und  her 
pretty  brown  hair  blowing  in  the  breeze  behind 
lier.  It  was  a  new  world  to  Barbara.  Mr. 
Sweet  was  certainly  the  most  benevolent  of  men. 
He  not  only  paid  the  rent  for  the  tenants  in  the 
sea-side  cottage,  but  be  bought  and  paid  for  the 
furniture  himself,  and  made  Barbara  new  pres- 
ents every  day.  And  Barbara  took  his  pres- 
ents— his  pr'^tty  boat,  the  new  dresses,  the  rich 
fruits  and  flowers  from  the  conservatories  and 
parterres  of  the  castle,  and  liked  the  gifts  im- 
mensely, and  began  to  look  even  with  a  little 
complacency  on  the  giver.  But  being  cf  an  in- 
I  tensely  jealous  nature,  with  the  wildest  dreams 
of  ambition  in  her  childish  head,  and  the  most 
I  passionate  and  impetuous  of  teniperf,  she  neve; 


got  on  TCI 
bara  oerU 
not  appar 
Esther  or  { 
it  lav  don 
but  bersel 
but  she  I 
but  he  wa 
walk  dow 
Clift»nlua 
to  see  bitu 
always  soi 

One  ev 
turned  do 
er  man's  < 
over  the  e 
to  olateb 
blowing  if 
of  a  lea<le 
west,  and 
a  roar  lik 
the  villagi 
bokedan;! 
ing  from  i 
sight  be  V 
road.     No 
ever,  in  tli 
he  watohe 
his  foot  e 
the  sand, 
the  reeds 
instantly  i 
and   he  s( 
looking 
wrong  ; 
len ;  and 
the  attack 

"  What 
on  people 
made  of 

"My  < 
pardons ! 

"Oh! 
suppose! 
go  anywl 
else  sure 

With  w 
scowl  disi 
up  the  { 
among  tb 
away  un ' 
bunch  of 
laid  then 
lap. 

"Wha 
Somethi 

"No,  t 
and  wi'-.h 
"Nothini 

"Wha 
1    "Noth 

"  Youi 
the  dear 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


87 


«rein.  In 
•  aware  of 
Bet  paid  in 
hin^  more 
tot  village 
down  bere 
er  located 
pruiuMod 

mentioned 
tho  Olid  of 
ralies,   and 
lit^washed, 
facing  the 
the  only 
had  been 
lawyer  be- 
tiilH  room 
room,   and 
email  bed- 
by  the  old 
a  ;  and  Mr. 
above, 
she  had  re- 
'  theatre  at 
home  in  a 
'.  Sweet  had 
ti  akitf  that 
a  crimson 
tne  "  Bar  ba- 
the stern 
days  in  the 
•ow.    There 
in  the  girl's 
}m  mornint; 
>  impassable 
uuiatanoe  of 
(ing   to   the 
ore  tlie  sun 
til  the  stars 
ho  had  been 
y  city  wails, 
rind,  as  if  it 
anoing  over 
ihe  tall  rank 
siiigiiig  as 
g  along  the 
eth,  und  her 
:eeze  behind 
-bara.      Mr. 
dent  of  men. 
nants  in  the 
paid  for  the 
•a  new  pres- 
»k  his  pres- 
ses, the  rich 
vatories  and 
he  gifts  im- 
with  a  little 
ing  cf  an  in- 
dest  dreams 
nd  the  most 
f,  she  neve; 


ffot  on  very  friendly  terms  with  any  one.  Bar- 
bara ourtainlv  was  half  a  barbarian.  Hlio  hud 
not  apparently  the  slightest  alTeotluu  either  (or 
talher  or  grandmother  ;  luid  if  she  had  a  heart, 
it  lav  doriuuui.  yet,  and  the  girl  loved  nobody 
but^ierself.  Mr.  ttweet  studied  her  profuundly, 
but  she  puzzled  iiim.  Hoareely  a  Jay  paMsed 
but  he  was  at  tho  oottai^e — taking  the  trouble  to 
walk  down  from  bis  own  handsoiuu  huuse  in 
Cliftonlea ;  and  Barbara  was  never  dinpleased 
to  see  him,  because  his  hands  or  his  pockets  had 
always  something  good  for  her. 

One  evening,  long  after  sunset,  Mr.  Sweet 
turned  down  the  rocky  road  leading  to  tho  fish- 
erman's cottage.  A  high  wind  was  surging 
over  the  sea,  an<l  rendering  it  necessary  fur  him 
to  olutoh  bis  hat  with  both  hands  to  prevent  its 
blowing  into  the  regions  of  space  ;  the  sky  was 
of  a  Iea<len  gray,  with  bars  of  hard  red  In  the 
west,  and  the  waves  cannonaded  the  shore  with 
a  roar  like  thunder.  No  one  was  abroad.  At 
the  village,  all  were  at  supper.  But  Mr.  Sweet 
boked  anxiously  for  a  lithe  girlish  figuru,  bound- 
ing from  rock  to  rook  as  if  treading  on  air — a 
sight  be  very  often  saw  wh>'U  walking  down  that 
road.  No  such  figure  was  flying  along,  how- 
ever, in  the  high  gale  this  evening  ;  and  while 
he  watched  for  it  over  the  olififa  and  saud  bills, 
his  foot  stumbled  againot  something  lying  in 
the  sand,  with  its  head  pillow<'d  in  the  midst  of 
the  reeds  and  rushes.  The  recumbent  figure 
instantly  sprang  erect,  with  angry  exclamationu, 
und  he  saw  the  sunburnt  face  of  ber  he  wtis 
looking  for.  Something  bad  evidently  gone 
wrong  ;  for  the  bright  face  looked  dark  and  nul- 
len  ;  and  she  began  instantly,  and  with  aspecity, 
the  attack. 

"  What  are  you  about,  Mr.  Sweet,  traraping 
on  people  with  your  great  feet,  as  if  they  were 
maue  of  cast-iron  ?" 

"  My  dear  Miss  Barbara,  I  beg  a  thousand 
pardons  !     I  really  never  saw  you." 

"  Oh !  you  didn't  ?  You're  going  blind,  I 
suppose!  But  it's  always  the  way!  I  never 
go  anywhere  for  peace  but  you  or  somebody 
else  sure  to  come  bothering!" 

With  which  Barbary  sat  upright,  a  very  cross 
scowl  disfiguring  her  pretty  face,  and  gathering 
up  the  profusion  of  her  brown  hair,  tangled 
among  the  reeds  and  thistles,  began  pushing  it 
away  under  her  gipsy  had.  Mr.  Sweet  took  a 
bunch  of  luscious  grapes  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
laid  them,  by  way  of  a  peaoe-oflfering,  in  ber 
lap. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  my  'ittle  Barbara  ? 
Something  is  wrong." 

"No,  there  isn't!"  said  Barbara,  snappishly, 
and  without  condescending  to  notice  the  grapes. 
"Nothing  wrong!" 

"  What  have  you  been  about  all  day  ?" 
f    "Nothing!" 

"  Your  general  occupation,  I  believe  I  Has 
the  dear  old  lady  been  sooldiog?'' 


"  No !    And  I  shouldn't  ear*  if  she  had  1" 

"  Have  you  been  to  supper  ?" 

"No!" 

"  liow  long  have  you  been  lying  here  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  tor- 
ment me  with  questions." 

Mr.  Sweet  laughed,  but  he  went  on  persever- 
iiigiy,  determined  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  Bar- 
bara's fit  of  ill-humor. 

"  Were  you  in  Cliftonlea  this  afternoon?" 

The  right  spring  was  touched  —  Barbara 
sprang  up  with  HaHhing  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  was  in  (Jtitlonfea,  ai>d  I'll  never  go 
there  again !  There  was  ''vt^rybody  making 
such  fuuU  of  themselves  over  that  little  pink- 
aiid-white  wax  doll  from  France,  just  as  if  she 
were  a  queen  I  She  and  that  cousin  of  hers, 
that  tall  fellow  they  call  Tom  Shirley,  were 
riding  through  the  town ;  she  on  her  white 
pony,  with  her  blue  riding-habit  and  black  hat, 
yellow  curls,  and  baby  lace,  ^nd  everybody 
running  out  to  see  theui,  and  the  womon  drop- 

tiug  courtesies,  and  the  men  taking  otf  th^'ir 
ats,  OS  they  passed.  Bah  !  it  was  enough  to 
make  one  sick!" 

Mr.  Swoet  suppressed  a  whistle  and  a  hingli. 
Envy,  and  jealousy,  and  pride,  as  usual,  were  at 
the  bottom  of  Miss  Barbara's  ill-temper,  for  the 
humble  tisberniau's  girl  had  within  her  n  con- 
suming fire — the  fire  of  a  fierce  and  indomita- 
ble pride,  lie  laid  bis  hand  on  her  ehonlder, 
and  looked  at  ber  passionate  face  with  a  smile. 

"  They  are  right,  my  dear!  She  is  the  rich- 
est of  heiresses,  and  the  Princess  of  Sussex! 
What  would  you  give  to  change  plaTo  with  her, 
Borbara?" 

"Don't  ask  me  what  I  would  give!"  said 
Barbara,  fiercely.  "  I  would  give  my  life,  my 
soul,  if  I  could  sell  it,  as  I  have  road  of  men 
doing  ;  but  it's  no  use  talking,  I  am  nothing 
but  a  miserable  pauper,  and  always  shall  be." 

The  lawyer  was  habitually  calm,  and  had 
wonderful  self-possession  ;  but  now  his  yellow 
face  actually  flushed,  his  small  eyes  kindled,  and 
the  smile  on  his  face  wao  like  the  gleam  of  a 
dagger. 

"  No,  Barbara !"  he  cried,  almost  hissing  the 
words  between  his  shut  teeth ;  "  a  time  will 
come  when  you  will  hold  your  head  n  thousand 
times  iiigher  than  that  yellow-haired  upstart! 
Trust  to  me,  Barbara,  and  you  shall  be  a  lady 
yet." 

He  turned  away,  humming  as  h<^  went. 
"  There's  a  good  time  coming,  wait  a  little  lon- 
ger." And  walking  much  faster  than  was  his 
decorous  wont,  he  passed  the  cottai;e  and  en- 
tered the  park-gates,  evidently  on  her  way  to 
the  castle. 

Barbara  looked  after  him  for  a  moment  a  lit- 
tle surprised  ;  and  then  becoming  aware  that  the 
night  was  falling,  the  sea  rising,  and  the  wind 
raging,  darted  along  the  rocks,  and  watched 
with  a  8ort  of  gloomy  pleasure  the  wild  wayei 


'iff ' 


88 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


daahiug  themselvcB  frautically  along  their  dark 
Bides. 

"  Wiittt  a  night  it  will  be,  auJ  how  the  mia- 
ute-guna  will  sound  before  morning  !"  she  said, 
speaking  to  hsrself  nnd  the  elements.  "  Ajd 
how  the  aurfwill  boil  in  the  Demon's  Tower, 
when  the  tide  ris'-^ !  I  will  go  and  have  a  look 
before  [  go  in." 

Over  the  rocks  she  flew,  her  hands  on  her 
sides ;  her  long  hair  and  short  dress  streaming 
in  the  gale  ;  her  eyes  and  cheeks  kindling  with 
exciteiaeut  at  the  wild  scene  and  hour.  The 
Demon's  Tower  was  much  more  easily  scaled 
from  without  than  within,  and  the  little  tiglit- 
rope  duncer  could  nliuost  tread  on  air.  So  she 
flew  up  the  steep  aides,  hand  over  hand,  swiftly 
as  a  suilur  climbs  the  rigging,  and  .'cached  the 
top,  breathless,  and  flushed.  Pushing  away  the 
hair  that  the  wind  was  blowing  into  her  eyes, 
she  looked  down,  expecting  to  hear  nothing  but 
the  echo  of  the  blast,  and  see  the  spray  fly  in 
showers,  when,  to  her  boundless  astonishment, 
she  heard  instead  a  sharp  cry,  and  saw  two  hu- 
man figures  kneeling  on  the  stone  floor,  and  u 
third  falling  back  from  the  side  with  a  crash. 

Barbara  was,  for  a  moment,  mute  with  amaze- 
ment ;  the  next,  she  had  comprehended  the 
whole  thing  instinctively,  and  found  her  voice. 
Leaning  over  the  dizzy  height,  she  shouted 
at  the  top  of  her  clear  lungs : 

"Hallo!" 

Ti^e  voice,  clear  as  a  bugle-blasu,  reached  the 
ears  of  one  of  the  kneeling  figures.  It  was  Vi- 
via,  and  she  looked  up  to  see  a  weird  face,  with 
streatning  hair  and  dark  eyes,  looking  down  at 
her,  in  ihe  ghostly  evening  light. 

"  Hallo !"  repeated  Barbara,  leaning  farther 
over.  "  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  dewn 
there  ?    Don't  you  know  you  11  be  drowned  ?" 

Vivia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  held  up  her 
arms  with  a  wild  cry. 

"  Oh,  save  us  !  save  us !  save  us !" 

"  Yes,  I  will ;  just  wait  five  minutes !"  ex- 
claimed Barbara,  who,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  forgot  everything  but  their  danger. 
"  I'll  save  you  if  I  drown  for  it!" 

Down  the  rocky  sides  of  the  tower  she  went 
as  she  had  never  gone  before,  bruising  her  hands 
till  they  bled,  without  feeling  ^he  pain.  Over 
the  cragy  peak,  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow,  and 
down  tc  a  small  sheltered  cove  between  two 
projecting  cliffs,  where  her  little  black  and  red 
boat,  with  its  oars  within  it,  lay  safely  moored. 
In  an  instant  the  boat  was  untied,  Barbara  leap- 
ed in,  and  shoved  off,  seated  herself  in  the 
thwart,  and  took  the  oars.  It  was  a  task  of  no 
slight  danger,  for  outside  the  little  core  the 
waves  ran  high  ;  but  Barbara  had  never  thought 
of  danger — never  thought  of  anything,  but  that 
three  persons  were  drowning  within  the  De- 
mon's Cave.  The  little  skiff  rode  the  waves 
like  »  cockle-shell ;  and  the  girl,,a8  she  bent  the 
oars,  h..d  to  stoop  her  head  low  to  avoid  the 


spray  being  dashed  in  her  face.  The  evening, 
too,  was  rapidly  darkening;  the  fierce  bars  of 
red  had  died  out  in  the  ghastly  sky,  and  great 
drops  of  rain  began  splashing  on  the  angry  and 
heaving  sea.  The  tide  had  risen  so  quickly,  that 
the  distance  to  the  cavern  was  an  ominous 
length,  and  Barbara  had  never  been  in  such 
weather  before,  but  still  the  brave  girl  kept  on, 
undismayed,  and  reached  it  at  last,  just  as  the 
waves  were  beginning  to  wash  the  stone  floor. 
The  boat  shot  ou  through  the  black  arch,  stop- 
ping beside  the  prostrate  figure  of  Tom,  and 
their  rescuer  sprang  out,  striving  to  recognize 
them  in  the  gloom. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  was  her  first  question,  look- 
ing down  at  the  recumbent  figure. 

"Not  quite  I"  said  Tom,  feebly,  but  with 
strength  enough  in  his  voice  to  put  the  matter 
beyond  all  doubt.    *'  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Barbara  Black.     Who  are  you  ?" 

Tom  Shirley — what's  left  of  me !  Help  those 
two  into  the  boat,  and  then  I  will  try  to  follow 
them  up  before  we  all  drown  here." 

"  In  with  you,  then  !"  cried  Barbara. 

And  Margaret  at  once  obeyed,  but  Vivia  held 
back. 

"  No,  not  until  you  get  in  first.  Tom  !  Help 
me  to  raise  him,  please.  I  am  afrihid  he  is  bad- 
ly hurt!" 

Barbara  obeyed,  and  with  much  trouble  and 
more  than  one  involuntary  groan  from  Tom, 
the  feat  was  accomplished,  and  he  was  safely 
lying  in  the  bottom.  Then  the  two  girls  fol- 
lowed him,  and  soon  the  little  black  and  red 
boat  was  tossing  over  the  surges,  guided  through 
the  deepening  darkness  byBarbara's  elastic  armo. 
But  the  task  was  a  hard  one  ;  more  than  onoe 
Margaret's  shrieks  of  terror  had  rung  out  on 
the  wind  ;  and  more  than  once,  Barbara's  brave 
heart  had  grown  chill  with  fear  ;  but  some  good 
angel  guarded  the  frail  skiff,  and  it  was  moored 
safely  in  its  own  little  cove  at  last.  Not,  how 
ever,  until  night  had  fallen  in  the  very  blackness 
of  darkness,  and  the  rain  was  sweeping  over  the 
sea  in  drenching  torrents,  Barbara  sprang  out 
and  secured  her  boat  as  it  had  been  before. 

"  Now,  then,  we  are  all  safe  at  fast !"  she 
cried.  "  And  as  he  can't  walk,  you  two  must 
stay  with  him  until  I  come  back  with  help. 
Don't  be  afraid.     I  won't  be  gone  long." 

She  was  not  gone  long,  certainly.  Fifteen 
minutes  had  not  elapsed  until  she  was  back 
with  her  father  and  another  fisherman  she  had 
met  on  the  way.  But  every  second  had  seem- 
ed an  hour  to  the  three  cowering  in  the  boat, 
with  the  rain  beating  pitilessly  on  their  heads. 
Barbara  carried  a  dark  lantern  ;  and,  by  its 
light,  the  two  men  lifted  Tom  and  bore  him  be- 
tween them  toward  the  cottage,  while  Barbara 
went  slowly  before,  carrying  the  lantern,  and 
with  Vivia  and  Margaret  each  clinging  to  an 
arm. 

A  bright  wood  fire  was  biasing  on  the  cottage* 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


89 


hearth  when  they  entered ;  for  tliongh  the  month 
W.18  September,  Judith's  bones  were  old  and 
chill,  and  Judith  sat  crouching  over  it  now, 
while  she  waited  for  their  ooiniug.  The  drip- 
ping procession  entered,  and  Yivia  thought  it  the 
pleasanteat  thing  she  had  ever  seen  even  nt  Cas- 
tle Cliffe.  A  wooden  settle  stood  before  it — 
Tom  was  placed  thereon,  and  Margaret  drop- 
ped down  beside  it,  exhausted  and  pauting  ;  Hud 
Vivia  and  Barbara  stood  opposite  and  looked 
at  each  other  across  the  hearth.  Vivia's  rich 
silk  dress  hung  dripping  and  clammy  around 
her;  and  her  long  white  curls  were  l^rencbed 
with  rain  and  sea-spray.  Barbara  recognized 
her  instantly,  and  so  did  the  fisherman  who  had 
helped  her  father  to  carry  Tom. 

"It  is  Miss  Shirley  and  Master  Tom!"  he 
cried  out.     "  Oh,  whatever  will  my  lady  say  ?" 

Old^  Judith  started  up  with  a  shri'.l  scream, 
and  darted  forward. 

"  Miss  Shirley !  the  heiress  I  Which  of  them 
is  her?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Vivia,  tumiag  her  clear  blue 
eyes  on  the  wrinkled  face  with  the  simple  dig- 
nity natural  to  her ;  "  and  you  must  have  word 
sent  to  the  CaaUe  immediately." 

Old  Judith,  shaking  like  one  in  an  ague  fit, 
and  looiiing  from  one  to  the  other,  stood  grasp- 
ing the  back  of  the  settle  for  support.  There 
thoy  were,  facing  eacli  other  for  the  first  time, 
and  neither  dreaming  how  darkly  their  desti- 
nies were  to  be  interlinked — neither  the  dark- 
browed  dancing-girl,  nor  the  sunny-haired 
heiress  of  Castle  Cliife. 

CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE    NCTN'S    ORAVK. 

"  Some  one  must  go  to  the  Castle,"  repeated 
Vivia,  a  little  imperiously.  "  Papa  and  grand- 
mamma will  be  anxious,  and  Tom's  hurt  must  be 
actended  to  immediately." 

Old  Judith,  like  a  modern  Gorgon,  stood  star- 
ing at  this  figure,  her  bleared  eyes  riveted  im- 
movably on  her  face,  and  shaking  like  a  wither- 
e>i  aspen  as  she  clutched  the  settle.  Victoria 
stood  like  a  lit'ie  queen  looking  down  on  her 
subjects ;  her  bright  silk  dress  hanging  dripping 
around  her,  and  her  long  hair  uncurled,  soak- 
ing with  seas-pray,  and  falling  in  drenched 
masses  over  her  shoulders.  Barbara,  who  had 
been  watching  her,  seemingly  as  much  fasci- 
nated as  her  grandmother,  started  impetuously 
up. 

"  I'll  go,  grandmother.  I  can  run  fast,  and 
I  won't  be  ten  minutes." 

*'  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  interposed 
Mr.  Black,  in  his  customary  gruff  tones.  "  You're 
a  pretty-looking  object  to  go  anywhere,  wet  as  a 
water-dog!  Let  the  young  lady  go  herself. 
She  knows  the  way  better  than  you.'*^ 

Viotui'ia  turned  her  blue  eyes  flashing  haughty 
fire  on  the  surly  Bpeak«'r  ;  hut  without  paying 
the  slightest  attentiou  to  him,  Barbara  seized  a 


shawl,  and  throwing  it  over  her  head,  rushed 
into  the  wild,  wet  night. 

The  storm  had  now  broken  in  all  its  fury. 
The  darkness  was  almost  palpable.  The  ram 
swept  wildly  in  the  face  ot  the  blast  over  the 
sea,  and  the  thunder  of  the  wuvcs  aguiust  the 
shore,  aud  the  lamentable  wail  of  the  wind  united 
in  a  grand  diapason  of  their  own.  But  the  fleet- 
footed  dancing-girl  heeded  neither  the  wind 
that  seemed  threatening  to  catch  up  her  light 
form  and  whirl  it  into  the  regions  of  eternal 
space,  nor  the  rushing  rain  that  beat  in  her 
face  and  blinded  her,  as  she  leaped  at  random 
over  the  slimy  rocks.  More  by  instinct  than 
eyesight,  she  foxiad  her  way  to  the  purU-gates — 
they  were  closed  and  bolted  ;  but  that  fact  was 
a  mere  trifie  to  her.  She  clambered  up  the 
wall  like  a  cut,  and  droppe  i^  cat-like,  on  her  feet 
among  the  wet  shrubbery  vitbin.  There  was 
no  finding  a  path  in  the  darkness  ;  but  she  ran 
headlong  among  the  trees,  6lip|iing,  and  falling, 
and  rising,  only  to  slip,  aud  full,  uud  rise  again, 
until,  at  last,  as  she  was  stopping  exhausted  and 
in  deapair,  thinking  she  hud  iusi  her  way  in  the 
tliiokly-wooded  plantation,  slie  saw  a  number 
of  twinkling  lights  flashing  in  aud  out,  like  fire- 
flies, in  the  darkness,  aud  heard  the  echo  of  dis- 
tant shouts.  Barbara  comprehended  instantly 
that  it  was  the  servants  out  with  lanterns  in 
search  of  the  missing  trio  ;  aud  starling  up,  she 
flew  on  again  at  break-neck  speed,  until  her 
rapid  career  was  brought  to  a  close  by  her  run- 
ning with  a  shock  against  two  persons  advanc- 
ing in  an  oppositedirection.  The  impetus  nearly 
sent  her  head  over  heels  ;  but  recovering  her 
centre  of  gravity  with  an  effort,  Barbara  clutch- 
ed the  branches  of  a  tree,  and  paused  to  recov- 
er the  breath  that  had  been  nearly  knocked  out 
of  her  by  the  concussion. 

"Whom  have  we  here?"  said  the  voice  of  one 
of  the  men,  coming  to  a  halt ;  "  is  it  a  water- 
witch,  or  a  kelpi,  or  a  mermaid,  or — " 

"  Why,  it's  little  Barbara !"  interrupted  the 
other,  holding  up  the  lantern  he  carried.  "  Lit- 
tle Barbara  Black,  actually  !  My  dear  child, 
how  in  the  world  came  you  tft  be  out  aud  up 
here  on  such  a  night?" 

»  Barbara  looked  at  the  two  speakers,  and  rec- 
ognized in  the  first,  Colonel  Shirley,  and  in  the 
second,  Mr.  Sweet,  who  held  the  lantern  close  to 
her  face,  and  gazed  at  her  in  consternation. 

"  They're  saved,  Mr.  Sweet ;  they're  all  saved ! 
\  ou  need  not  look  for  them  any  more,  for  they're 
down  at  our  cottage,  and  I've  come  up  here  to 
bring  the  news!" 

"  Saved  !  How — where — -whot  do  you  mean, 
Barbara?" 

"  Oh,  they  were  in  the  Demon's  Tower — went 
there  at  low  water  ;  and  the  tide  rose  and  they 
couldn't  get  out ;  and  so  I  took  ray  boat  and 
rowed  them  ashore,  and  he  has  hurt  himself, 
and  they're  all  down  at  our  house,  waiting  fo» 
lomebody  to  come  t"  I 


40 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


Colonel  Shitley  laughed,  though  a  litlle  dis- 
mayed withal,  at  this  very  intelligible  explana- 
tion. 

"  Who  is  this  Jittle  sea-goddeas,  Sweet,  and 
where  does  she  come  from  f"  he  asked. 

"  From  Lower  Cliffe,  Colonel  ;  her  father  is 
a  fisherman  there,  and  I  understand  the  whole 
matter  now!"  a 

"  Then  we  must  go  down  to  Lower  ClifFe  im- 
mediately. W  hat  could  have  brought  them  to 
the  Demon's  Tower  ?  But,  of  course,  it's  some  of 
Master  Tom's  handiwork.  Wait  one  moment, 
iSweet,  wliile  1  send  word  to  Lady  Agnes,  and  tell 
the  rest  to  give  over  the  search.  What  an  es- 
cape they  uiust  have  had  if  they  were  caught 
by  the  tide  in  the  Demon's  Tower?" 

"And  Colonel,  you  had  better  give  orders  to 
have  a  conveyance  of  some  sort  follow  us  to  the 
village.  The  young  ladies  cannot  venture  out 
in  such  wind  uud  rain ;  and,  if  I  understood  our 
little  messeuger  aright,  some  one  is  hurt.  Bar- 
bara, my  dear  child,  how  could  they  have  the 
heart  to' send  you  out  in  such  weatlier?" 

"  They  didn't  send  me — 1  came  !"  said  Bar- 
bara, composedly,  as  the  Colonel  disappeared 
for  a  moment  in  the  darkness.  "  Father  wanted 
me  not  to  come,  bui  I  don"t  mind  the  weather. 
I'll  go  home  now,  and  you  can  show  the  gentle- 
man tlie  way  yourself!" 

•'No,  no  ;  1  cannot  have  ray  little  Barbara 
risking  her  neck  iu  tliat  fashion.  Here  comes 
Colonel  Shirley,  -^o  give  me  your  hand,  Barbara, 
and  I  will  show  you  tlie  way  »iy  the  light  of  my 
lantern.'' 

But  Miss  Barbara,  with  a  little  disdainful  as- 
tonishment even  at  the  offer,  declined  it,  and 
ran  along  in  the  pelting  rain,  answering  all  tlie 
Colonel's  profuse  questions,  until  the  whole 
facts  of  the  cuse  were  gained. 

"  Very  rash  of  Mr.  Tom — very  ra»h,  indeed  !" 
remarked  Mr.  Sweet,  at  tlie  oonolusioa  ;  "  and 
I  hope  his  narrow  escape  and  broken  head  will 
be  a  lesson  to  him  the  rest  of  bis  life.  Here  we 
are,  Colonel — tiiis  is  the  house." 

The  ruddy  glow  of  the  fire- light  was  shining 
still,  a  cheerful  beacon,  from  the  small  windows, 
to  all  storm-beaten  wayfarers  without.  Barba- 
ra opened  the  door  and  bounded  in,  shaking  the^ 
water  from  lier  soaking  garments  as  she  ran, 
followed  by  the  lawyer  and  the  Indian  officer 
The  wood  lire  blazed  still  on  the  hearth  ;  Tom 
lay  on  the  settle  before  it;  Margaret  and  Vivia 
were  steaming  away  in  fr  nt  of  the  blaze,  and  Mr. 
Peter  Black  sat  in  the  n'liraney-oorner  sulky  and 
sleepy.  But  old  Jui  ih's  chair  opposite  was 
vacant,  and  old  Judith  herself  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  Vivia  sbirt.ed  up,  as  they  entered,  with 
a  cry  of  joy,  and  sjirang  into  her  father's  arms. 
•'  O  papa,  I  am  so  glad  you've  come !  O 
papa,  I  thought  I  was  never  going  to  see  you 
again !" 

"  My  darling  !  And  to  think  of  your  being  in 
tiich  (fnj.fjfftr  ami  1  not  i(ii.»w  it!'' 


"  O  papa,  it  was  dreadful  I  and  we  would  all 
>'.«ve  been  drowned,  only  for  that  girl !" 

"  She  is  a  second  Grace  Darling,  that  brave 
little  girl,  and  you  and  I  can  never  repay  her 
for  to-nigbt's  work,  my  Vivia !  But  this  rash 
boy  Tom — I  hope  the  poor  fellow  has  not  paid 
too  dearly  for  his  visit  to  the  Demon's  Tower." 

"  He  is  not  seriously  hurt,  papa,  but  his  face 
is  bruised,  and  he  says  he  thinks  one  of  Lis 
arms  is  broken." 

"  It's  all  right  with  Mr.  Tom,  Colonel,"  said 
Mr.  Sweet,  who  had  been  examining  Tom's 
wounds,  looking  up  cheerily.  "  One  arm  is 
broken,  and  there  are  a  few  contusions  on  his 
head-piece,  but  he  will  be  over  them  all  before 
he  is  twice  married !  Ah !  there  comes  the 
carriage,  now !" 

"  And  how  is  it  with  little  Maggie  ?"  said  the 
Colonel,  patting  her  on  the  head,  with  a  smile. 
'•  Well,  Tom,  my  boy,  this  is  a  pretty  evening's 
work  of  yours— isn't  it?" 

Tom  looked  up  into  the  handsome  face  bend- 
ing over  him,  and,  despite  his  pallor,  had  the 
grace  to  blush. 

"  1  am  sorry,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  I  wish  I 
had  broken  my  neck  instead  of  my  arm — it 
would  only  have  served  me  right!" 

"Very  time!  but  still,  as  it  wouldn't  have 
helped  matters  much,  perhaps  it's  as  well  as  it 
is.     Do  you  think  you  can  walk  to  the  carriage  ?" 

Tom  rcse  with  some  difficulty,  for  the  wounds 
on  his  head  made  him  sick  and  giddy,  and  lean- 
ing heavily  on  Mr.  Sweet's  arm,  managed  to 
reach  the  door. 

The  Colonel  looked  at  Mr.  Black,  who  still 
maintained  his  seat,  despite  the  presence  of  his 
distinguished  visitors,  and  never  turned  his 
gloomy  eyes  from  the  dancing  blaze. 

"  Come  away,  papa,''  whispered  Vivia,  shrink- 
ing away  with  an  expression  of  repulsion  from 
the  man  in  the  chimney-corner.  "  I  don't  like 
that  man !" 

Low  as  the  words  were  spoken,  they  reached 
the  man  iu  question,  who  looked  up  at  her  with 
his  customary  savage  scowl. 

"  I  haven't  done  nothing  to  you,  young  ladv, 
that  I  knows  on  ;  and  if  you  don  t  like  me  or 
my  bouse — which  neither  is  much  to  look  at. 
Lord  knows ! — the  best^hing  you  can  do  is  to  go 
back  to  your  fine  castllr  and  not  come  here  any 
more !" 

Colonel  Shirley  turned  the  light  of  his  dark 
bright  eyes  full  on  the  speaker,  wh'»  quailed  un- 
der it,  and  sank  down  in  his  seat  like  the  cow- 
ard he  was. 

"  My  ^ood  fellow,  there  is  no  necessity  to  make 
yourseU  disagreeable.  The  young  lady  is  not 
likely  to  troubla  you  again,  if  she  can  help  it. 
Meantime,  perhaps  this  will  repay  you  for  any 
inoonvenienoe  you  may  have  been  put  to  to- 
night. And  aa  for  this  little  girl — your  daugh- 
ter, I  presume — we  will  try  if  wb  cannot  find 
Ii>in4  hattor  wf»y  of  ro,.oi.n.n,i»in(r  |,ta|-     j^  i\m>( 


THE  HEIRES9  OP  CABTLE  CLIFFE. 


41 


at  least — for  the  invnluable  service  she  has  ren- 
dered." 

He  threw  Lis  purse  to  the  fisherman  as  he 
would  have  thrown  a  bone  to  a  dog  ;  iiud  turned, 
an  instant  after,  with  his  own  bri{{ht  smile,  to 
tue  fisherman's  daughter.  She  stood  Jeauing 
against  the  mantel,  the  firelight  shiuing  iu  hov 
splendid  eyes,  gilding  her  crimson  cheeks,  and 
seiiding  spears  of  light  in  and  out  through  the 
tangled  waves  of  her  wet  brown  hair.  8ome- 
taiug  in  the  attitude,  in  the  liark,  beautiful  face, 
in  the  luminous  splendor  of  the  large  eyes,  re- 
called vividly  to  the  Colonel  some  dream  of  the 
past — something  S'  en  before — seen  and  lost  for- 
ever. But  the  wistful,  earnest  look  vanished 
as  he  turned  to  her,  and  with  it  tbo  momentary 
resemblance,  as  it  struck  him,  as  a  lance  strikes 
oa  a  seared  wound. 

"  Ask  her  to  come  up  to  tlie  Castle  to  morrow, 
papa,"  again  whipered  Yivia.  '*!  like  that  girl 
BO  mucii  •" 

"  So  you  should,  my  dear.  She  has  saved 
your  lire.  Barbara — vour  name  is  Barbara, 
is  it  not  r 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"My  little  girl  wants  you  to  come  to  visit  her 
to-morrow,  and  I  second  her  wish.  Do  you 
think  you  can  find  your  way  through  the  park- 
gates  again,  Barbara  ?" 

The  smile  on  the  Indian  ofifieer's  face  was  in- 
fectious. Barbara  smiled  briglitly  buck  an  an- 
swer ;  and  albeit  Barbara's  smiles  were  few  and 
far  between,  they  were  as  beautiful  as  rare. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  if  you  wish  it." 

"  I  never  wished  for  anything  more  ;  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  there  every  day  for  the 
future.  Genevieve,  bid  Barbara  good-night  and 
come." 

Yivia  held  out  her  lily-leaf  of  a  hand,  and 
Babara  just  touched  it  with  her  brown  fingers. 

"  Don't  forget.  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  at 
the  park-gates.     Good-night." 

"  I  shall  not  forget.     Good-night." 

The  tall,  gallant,  soldier-like  form,  and  the 
little  vision  in  shot-silk  and  yellow-hair,  went 
out  into  the  stormy  night ;  and  Barbara  went 
to  her  room,  but  for  once  in  her  life  not  to 
sleep.  Her  book  of  life  had  opened  on  a  new 
page  that  day.  The  vague  yearnings  that  had 
grown  wild,  like  rank  weeds,  all  her  life,  Id  her 
heart,  had  struck  deeper  root,  and  sprang  up 
6  rong  and  tall,  to  poison  her  whole  future 
life. 

It  was  sometime  iu  the  afternoon  of  the  fol- 
lowing day,  when  Barbara  walked  slowly  — 
something  unusual  for  her — up  the  rough  road 
to  the  park-gates.  As  she  passed  through  uud 
went  on  under  the  shadows  of  some  giant  pines, 
a  bright  little  figure  came  flying  down  the  ave- 
nue to  meet  her, 
«     "  0  Barbara !" 

And  two  little  hands  clasped  hers  with  child- 
ish impetuosity. 


"  0  Barbara  I  I  was  so  afraid  you  would  not 
come." 

"  I  couldn't  come  any  sooner.  I  was  in  Ciif- 
toulea  uU  morning.  Oh,  what  great  trees  those 
.are  here,  and  what  a  queer  old  cross  that  is 
standing  up  there  amongst  them." 

•'  That's  the  ruins  of  the  convent  that  used  to 
be  here  long  ago — hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
years  ago — when  there  were  convents  and  njjon- 
asteries  all  through  England  ;  and  the  last  ab- 
bess was  murdered  there.  Tom  told  me  all  about 
it  the  other  day,  and  showed  me  her  grave. 
Come  ;  I'll  show  it  to  you  now." 

The  two  children,  the  high-born  heiress  in 
rose-silk  and  the  daintiest  of  little  French  hats, 
and  the  low-bred  dancing-girl  in  her  plain  me- 
rino and  cotton  suubonnet,  strayed  away  togeth- 
er, chattering  like  mngpies,  among  the  gloomy 
elms  and  yews,  down  to  the  Nuns  Grave.  With 
the  tall  plantation  of  elms  and  oaks  belting 
it  around  on  every  side,  and  the  thickly-inter- 
lacing branches  of  yew  overhead,  the  place  was 
dark  at  all  times,  and  a  solemn  hush  rested  ever 
around  it.  The  very  birds  seemed  to  cease 
their  songs  in  the  gloomy  spot,  and  the  dead 
nun,  after  the  lapse  of  hundreds  of  years,  l>ad 
her  lonely  grave  as  undisturbed  as  when  she  had 
first  been  placed  there  with  the  stake  through 
her  heart. 

"  What  a  lonesome  place  !"  said  Barbara,  un- 
der her  breath,  as  the  two  stood  looking,  awe- 
struck, at  the  grave.  "When  I  die,  I  should 
like  to  be  buried  here !" 

Vivia,  mute  v.ith  the  solemn  feeling  one  al- 
ways hns  when  near  the  dead,  did  not  answer, 
but  stood  looking  down  at  the  quiet  grave,  and 
the  black  marble  slab  above  it. 

The  silence  was  broken  in  a  blood-chilling 
manner  enough. 

"  Barbara !" 

Both  children  recoiled  with  horror,  for  the 
voice  came  from  the  grave  at  their  feet.  Clear, 
and  sweet,  and  low,  but  distinct,  and  unmistak- 
ably from  the  grave  1 

"  Victoria !" 

The  voice  again — the  same  low,  sweet,  clear 
voice  from  beneath  their  feet ! 

The  faces  of  both  listeners  tamed  white  with 
fear. 

The  voice  from  the  grave  came  up  on  the 
still  summer  air,  solemn  and  sweet,  once  more  ! 

"  From  death,  one  has  been  saved  by  the  oth- 
er ,•  and  in  the  days  to  come,  one  shall  perish 
through  the  other.  Barbara,  be  warned  !  Vic- 
toria, beware !" 

It  ceased.  A  blnokbird  perched  on  an  over- 
hanging branch,  sat  np  its  chirping  song,  and 
the  voice  of  Mademoiselle  Jeannotte  was  heard 
in  the  distance,  crying  out  for  Miss  Vivia.  It 
broke  the  spell  of  terror,  and  both  children  fled 
from  the  spot. 

'•  0  Barbara !  What  was  that  ?"  cried  Vivia, 
her  very  lips  white  with  fear. 


42 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


"  I  dou't  know,"  said  Barbara,  trying  to  bide 
ber  own  terror-  "  It  oaniti  from  tbe  grave.  It 
couldn't  be  the  dead  nun — aould  it?  Is  tbat 
place  haunted  ?" 

"  No— yes — I  don't  know  f  I  think  Tom  said 
there  was  a  ghost  seen  there.  Don't  tell  Jean- 
nette  ;  she  will  only  laugh  at  us.  But  I  will 
never  go  there  as  long  as  I  live  !" 

"  What  made  you  stay  away  so  long,  Made- 
moiaelle  Vivia  ?  Your  grandmother  was  afraid 
yon  were  lost  again." 

"  Let  us  hurry,  then.  I  want  grandmamma 
to  see  you,  Barbara  ;  so  make  baste." 

The  great  hall-door  of  the  old  mansion  was 
wide  open  hh  they  came  near,  and  Lady  Agnes 
herself  stoci  in  the  hall,  talking  to  ^be  Colonel 
and  Mr.  Sweet ;  Vivia  ran  breathiessly  in,  fol- 
lowed by  Barbara,  who  glanced  around  the 
adorned,  and  carved,  and  pictured  bail,  and  up 
the  sweeping  staircase,  with  its  gilded  balustrade, 
in  grand,  careless  surprise. 

"Here  is  Barbara,  grnndmamma!  —  here  '9 
Barbara !"  was  Vivia's  cry,  as  she  rushed  in.  "  I 
knew  she  would  come." 

"  Barbara  is  the  best  and  bravest  little  girl  in 
the  world  !"  said  Lady  Agnes,  glancing  curious- 
ly at  the  bright,  fearless  face,  and  holding  out 
two  jeweled  tapered  fingers.  *'  I  am  glad  to  see 
BarJbara  here,  and  thank  her  for  what  she  has 
done,  with  all  my  heart." 

Mr.  Sweet,  standing  near,  with  his  pleasant 
smile  on  bis  face,  stepped  forward,  hat  in 
hand. 

"  Good  afternoon,  my  lady.  Good  afternoon, 
Miss  Victoria.  Our  little  Barbara  will  have 
cause  to  bless  the  day  that  has  brought  ber 
such  noble  friends." 

With  a  tune  on  his  lips,  and  tbe  smile  deep- 
ening inexplicably,  he  went  out  into  the  great 
portico,  down  the  broad  stone  steps  guarded  by 
two  crouching  lions,  and  alon^  the  great  avenue, 
shading  off  the  golden  sunshine  with  its  waving 
trees.  Under  one  of  them  he  paused,  with  his 
bat  still  in  his  hand,  the  sunlight  sifting  through 
tbe  trees,  making  his  jewelry  and  his  yellow 
hair  flash  buck  its  radiance,  and  looked  around. 
Th44  grand  old  mansion,  the  sweeping  vista  of 
park  and  lawn,  and  terrace  and  shrubbery, 
and  glade  and  Woodland,  mimio  lake  and  radi- 
ant ruse-garden,  Swiss  farmhouse  and  ruined 
oonvent,  all  spread  out  before  him,  bathed  in 
the  glory  of  the  bright  September  sun.  Tbe 
tune  died  away,  and  the  smile  changed  to  an  ex- 
ultant laugh. 

"■  And  to  think,"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  turning 
away,  "  that  one  day  all  this  shall  be  mine  1" 


Such 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  MAT  QUEEN. 

a  morning  as  that  first  of  May  was ! 


Had  the  good  people  of  Cliftonlea  sent  up  an 
express  order  to  the  clerk  of  the  weather  to 
manufacture  them  the  fairest  day  he  could  poe« 


sibly  turn  out,  tbey  could  not  have  had  a  more 
perfectly  unexceptionable  one  than  that.  Sun 
and  sky  were  so  radiantly  bright,  they  fairly 
made  vou  wonder  to  think  of  them.  Cfeylon'a 
spicy  freezes  conld  not  have  been  warmer  or 
spicier  than  tbat  blowing  over  Cliftonlea  Com- 
mon. The  grass  and  the  trees  were  as  green  as, 
in  many'other  parts  of  England,  they  would  have 
been  in  July.  The  cathedral-bells  were  ring- 
ing, until  they  threatened  to  crack  and  go  mm 
with  joy ;  and  as  for  the  birds,  they  were  sing- 
ing at  such  a  rate,  that  they  fairly  overtopped 
the  bells,  and  had  been  hard  and  fast  at  it 
since  five  o'clock.  All  the  town,  en  grande 
tenue,  were  hurrying,  with  eager  anticipation, 
toward  the  Common— a  great  square,  carpeted 
with  the  greenest  possible  grass,  besprinkled 
with  pink  and  white  daisies,  and  shaded  by  tall 
English  poplars — where  the  Cliftonlea  Braes 
Banii  was  already  banging  away  at  the  "  May 
Queen".  All  business  was  suspended  ;  for  May 
Day  had  been  kept,  from  time  immeniurial,  a 
holiday,  and  the  lady  of  Castle  Cliffe  always  en- 
couraged it,  by  ordering  ber  ager*'.  tu  furnish  a 
pul)lic  dinner,  and  supper,  and  no  end  of  ale, 
on  each  anniversary.  Then,  besides  the  feast- 
ing and  drinking,  th^re  was  the  band  and  danc- 
ing for  the  young  people,  until  the  small  hours, 
if  they  chose.  And  so  it  was  no  wonder  that 
May  Day  was  looked  for  months  before  it  came, 
and  was  the  talk  months  afterward  ;  and  that 
numberless  matches  were  made  there,  and  that 
the  May  Queen  was  the  belle  all  the  succeding 
year,  and  the  envy  of  all  tbe  young  ladies  of 
the  town. 

The  cathedral-bells  had  just  begun  to  chime 
forth  the  national  anthem ;  the  crowd  of  towns- 
folk kept  pouring  in  a  long  stream  through 
High  street  toward  the  Common  ;  when  a  slight 
sensation  was  created  by  the  appearance  of  two 
young  men,  to  whom  the  women  oourtesied  and 
the  men  took  off  their  hats.  Both  bore  the  un- 
mistakable stamp  of  gentlemen,  and  there  was 
an  indefinable  something — an  indescribable  air — 
about  them,  that  told  plainer  than  words  they 
were  not  of  the  honest  burghers  among  whom 
they  walked.  One  of  these,  upon  whom  the 
cares  of  life  and  a  green  shooting-jacket  ap- 
peared to  sit  easily,  whs  remarkable  for  his 
stature — being,  like  Saul,  the  son  of  Kish,  above 
the  heads  of  his  fellow  men — with  the  propor- 
tions of  a  grenadier,  and  the  thews  and  sinews 
of  an  athlete.  On  an  exuberant  crop  of  short, 
crisp,  black  curls,  jauntily  sat  a  blue  Scotch 
bonnet,  with  a  tall  feather.  On  the  herculean 
form  was  the  green  bunting-jacket,  tightened 
round  the  waist  with  a  leather  belt,  and  to  his 
knees  came  a  pair  of  tall  Wellington  boots. 
This  off-hand  style  of  costume  suited  the  wearer 
to  perfection,  whicli  is  as  good  as  saying  his 
figure  was  admirable ;  and  suited,  too,  the 
laughing  black  eyes  and  dashing  air  generally. 
A  mustache,  thick  and  black,  became  well  the 


THE  FiEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


48 


h»d  a  more 
that.  Sun 
tliey  fairly 
1.  Ceylon'B 
n  warmer  or 
ftonlea  Coni- 
)  as  green  as, 
y  would  have 
s  were  ring- 
and  go  mad 
sy  were  aing- 
f  overtopped 
id  fast  at  it 
1,  en  grande 
anticipation, 
are,  carpeted 
besprinkled 
haded  by  tall 
'tonlea  Brass 
It  the  "May 
led  ;  for  May 
nmeniurial,  a 
fife  always  en- 
;  tu  furnish  a 

0  end  of  ale, 
lies  the  feast- 
ind  and  dane- 
!  small  hours, 

wonder  that 
efore  it  came, 
rd  ;  and  that 
lere,  and  that 
he  BVicceding 
ang  ladies  of 

fii'.n  to  chime 
owd  of  towns- 
earn  through 
when  a  slight 
larance  of  two 
lourtesied  and 

1  bore  the  un- 
ind  there  was 
scribable  air — 
,n  words  tliey 
among  whom 
)n  whom  the 
ing-jttcket  ap- 
kable  for  his 
of  Kish,  above 
i  the  propor- 
ivB  and  sinens 
crop  of  short, 
i  bine  Scotch 
the  herculean 
ket,  tightened 
;lt,  and  to  his 
lington  boots, 
ted  the  wearer 
as  saying  his 
ited,  too,  the 
air  generally, 
came  well  the 


■unburnt  and  not  very  handsome  face;  and  he 
held  his  liead  up,  and  talked  aud  laughed  in  a 
voice  sonorous  and  clear,  not  to  say  lou''.  as  a 
bugle-blast, 

The    oung  giant's  companion  was  not  at  all 
like   him— nothing  near  so  tall,  though   still 
somewhat  above   the   usual  height,  and  much 
more  slender  of  figure — .but  then  he  had  such  a 
figure !     One  of  tliose  masculine  faces,  to  wliich 
the  adjective  beautiful  can  be  applied,  and  yet 
remain  intensely  masculine.     A  light  summer 
straw-bat  sat  on  the  fair  brown  hair,  aud  shaded 
the  broad  pale  brow — the  dreamy  brow  of  a  poet 
or  a  painter — large  blue  eyes,  so  darkly  olue 
that  at  first  you  would  be  apt  to  mistake  them 
for  black,  shaded  bs  they  were  by  girl-like,  long, 
sweeping  lashes — wouderful  eyes,  in  whose  clear, 
c&Im  depths  spoke  a  deathless  energy,  fiery 
passion,  amid  all  their  calm,  aud  a  fascination 
that  his  twenty-four  years  of  life  had  proved  to 
their  owner,  few  could  evv     resist.     The  clear 
pale  complexion,  the  straight  delicate  features, 
somewhat  set  aud  haughty  in  repose,  were  a  pe- 
culiarity of  his  race,  aud   known  to  many  in 
London  and  Sussex  as  the  "  Gliffe  face''.     His 
dress  was  the  most  faultleso  of  morning  cos- 
tumes, and  a  striking  contrast  to  the  eiisv  style 
of  his  companion's  with  whom  he  walked  arm- 
and-arm  ;  pattii.g,  now  and  then,  with  tiie  other 
hand,  which   was  gloved,  the  head  of  a  great 
Canadian  wolf-hound  trotting  by  his  side.   Both 
young  gentlemen   were  smoking ;    but  the  tall 
wetirer  of  the  green  jacket  was  carrying  his  cigar 
between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  was  holding 
forth  volubly. 

"  Of  course,  they  will  have  a  May  Queen ! 
Tliey  always  have  had  in  Ciiftonlea,  from  time 
immemorial ;  and  I  believe  the  thing  is  men- 
tioned in  Magna  Charta.  If  you  had  not  been 
such  a  heathen,  Cliffe,  roaming  all  your  life  in 
foreign  parts,  you  would  have  known  about  it 
before  this.  Ah  !  how  often  I  have  danced  on 
the  green  with  the  May  Queen,  when  I  was  a 
guileless  little  shaver  in  roundabouts  ;  and  what 
pretty  little  things  those  May  Queens  were  !  If 
you  only  keep  your  eye  sKinued  to-day,  you 
will  see  some  of  the  best-looking  girls  you  ever 
saw  in  your  life." 
"  I  don't  believe  it." 

'Seeing  is  believing,  and  you  just  hold  on. 
The  last  time  I  was  Itere,  Barbara  Black  was 
the  May  Queen  ;  and  what  a  girl  that  was,  to  be 
sure !  Such  eyes  ;  such  hair ;  such  an  ankle  ; 
such  an  <nstep ;  such  a  figure ',  such  a  face  I 
Just  the  sort  of  thing  you  painting  fellows  al- 
ways go  mad  about,  I  believe  I  was  half  in 
love  with  her  at  the  time,  if  I  don't  greatly  mis- 
take." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  in  the  least.     It's  a  way 
you  have,"  said  his  companion,  whose  low,  re- 
fined tones  contrasted  forcibly  with  the  vigorous 
voioe  of  the  other.     "  How  long  ago  is  that  ?" 
.     "  Four  years,  precisely." 


'•  Then,  take  my  word  for  it,  Barbara  Black 
is  homely  as  a  hedge-fence  by  this  time.  Pretty 
children  always  grow  up  ugly,  and  vice  versa.''' 

"Perhaps  6o,'°  said  the  giant  in  the  green 
iacket,  and  tightening  his  belt.  "  Well,  it  may 
De  true  enough  as  a  general  rule  ;  for  I  was  un- 
common ugly  when  a  child,  and  lo«.\  at  me 
now!  But  I'll  swear  Barbara  ie  an  exception; 
for  she  is  the  prettitst  girl  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life — except  one.  Only  to  think,  being  four 
years  absent  from  a  place,  and  then  not  to  find 
it  tlie  least  changed  when  vou  come  back." 

"Isn't  it?  I  know  so  little  of  Ciiftonlea,  that 
its  good  people  might  throw  their  houses  out  of 
the  windows,  without  my  being  anything  the 
wiser.  What  a  confounded  din  that  band 
makes  I  and  what  a  crowd  there  is  I  I  hate 
crowds  I" 

"  They'll  i^uke  way  for  us,"  said  the  young 
giant ;  and,  true  to  his  prediction,  the  dense 
mob  encircling  the  Common  parted  respectfully 
to  let  the  two  young  men  through.  "  "Look 
there,  Cliffe,  that's  tlie'May-pole,  and  that  flower- 
wreathed  seat  r.nderneath  is  the  Queen's  throne, 
God  bless  her!  See  that  long  arch  of  t;reen 
boughs  and  flowers ;  that's  the  way  Her  Majes- 
ty will  come.  And  just  look  at  this  living  sea 
of  eager  eyes  and  faees  I  You  might  make  a 
picture  of  ail  this,  Sir  Artist." 

"  And  make  my  fortune  at  the  Exhibition. 
It's  a  good  notion,  and  I  may  try  it  some  time, 
when  1  have  time.  Who  is  to  be  the  May  Queen 
this  year  ?" 
"  Can't  say.  There  she  comes  herself!" 
The  place  where  the  young  men  stood,  was 
within  the  living  circle  around  the  boundary  of 
the  Common,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a  tall 
pole,  wreathed  with  evergreens  and  daisies,  and 
surmounted'on  the  top  by  a  crown  of  artificial 
flowers,  made  of  gold  and  silver  paper,  spark- 
ling in  the  sunshine  like  a  golden  coronet 
From  this  pole  to  the  opposite  gate  were  arches 
of  evergreen,  wreathed  with  wild  flowers,  and 
under  this  verdant  canopy  was  the  Queen's 
train  to  enter.  The  militia  band,  in  their  soar- 
let  and  blue  uniforms,  stood  near  the  Queen's 
throne,  playing  now  "  Barbara  Allen"  ;  and  the 
policemen  were  stationed  here  and  there,  to 
Keep  the  crowd  from  surging  in  until  the  royal 
procession  entered.  This  Common,  i..  may  be 
said  in  parenthesis,  was  at  the  extreme  extremity 
of  the  town,  and  away  from  nil  dwellings ;  but 
thci^  were  two  large,  gloomy- looking  stone 
buildings  within  a  few  yards  of  it — one  of  them 
the  court-house,  the  other  the  county  jail — as 
one  of  the  yonng  gentlemen  bad  reason  to  know 
in  after  days,  to  his  cost. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  expectation  and  a 
swaying  of  the  crowd  ;  the  band  changed  from 
"  Barbara  Allen"  to  the  national  anthem,  and 
the  expected  procession  began  to  enter.  Two  by 
two  they  came  ;  the  pretty  village-girls  all  dress- 
ed in  transUicerit  white,  blue  sashes  round  their 


44 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


) 


waists,  and  wreaths  of  flowers  on  their  heads  ; 
blonde  dnd  brunette,  pale  and  rosy,  stately  and 
petite — on  they  came,  two  and  two,  scdttering 
(lowers  as  they  went,  and  singing  "  Qod  Save 
the  Queen".  It  was,  indeed,  a  pretty  sight, 
and  the  artist's  spleadid  eyes  kindled  as  tliey 
looked  ;  but  though  many  of  the  faces  were  ex- 
ceedingly handsome,  tlie  May  Queen  bad  not 
come  yet.  Nearly  thirty  of  this  gauzy  train 
had  entered  and  taken  their  stand  round  the 
throne,  looking  in  their  swelling  amplitude  of 
snowy  gauze  and  swaying  crinoline  ten  times 
that  number,  when  a  mighty  shout  arose  un  ini- 
mously  from  the  crowd,  eunounoinir  the  coming 
of  the  fairest  of  thf  m  all — the  Queen  of  Maj?. 
Over  the  flower-strewn  path  oamo  a  glittering 

Suipage,  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies  migbt  b',r- 
f  ^avc  ridden  in ;  a  tiny  chariot  dazzlir:g  with 
gilding,  vivid  with  rose-red  paint,  and  wreath- 
ed and  encircled  with  flowers,  drawn  by  six  of 
the  BDow-olad  nymphs,  the  Queen's  maids  of 
honor.  By  its  side  walked  two  children,  neither 
more  than  six  years  old,  each  carrying  a  flag, 
one  the  Union  Jack  of  Old  England,  the  other  a 
banner  of  azure  silk,  with  the  name  "  Barbara" 
shining  in  silver  letters  thoreon.  And  within 
tlie  chariot  rode  such  a  vision  of  beauty,  in  the 
same  mi6ty  white  robes  as  her  subjects,  the  blue 
sash  round  the  taper  waist,  and  a  nrreath  of 
white  roses  round  the  stately  head,  such  a  vis- 
ion of  beauty  as  is  seen  oftener  in  the  brains  of 
poets  and  artists  than  in  real  life,  and  heard  of 
oftener  in  fairy  tales  tban  this  prosy,  everyday 
world.  But  the  radiant  vision,  with  a  coronet 
of  shining  dark  braids  twisted  round  and  round 
the  stately  head- -Nature's  own  luxuriant  crown 
—with  tlie  lustrous  dark  eyes,  flushed  cheeks, 
and  smiling  lips,  was  no  myth  of  fairy  tale,  or 
vapory  vision  of  poetry,  but  a  dazzling  flesh-and- 
blood  reality  ;  and  ns  she  stepped  from  her 
gilded  chariot,  fairest  where  all  were  fair, 
"  qneen-rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls'', 
buju  a  shout  went  up  from  the  excited  crowd, 
thit  the  thunder  of  brass  band  and  drum  was 
drowned  altogether  for  fully  ten  minutes. 
"  God  Save  the  Queen  !"  "  Long  Live  Queen 
Barbara !"  ing  and  rerang  on  the  air,  as  if  she 
were  indeed  a  crowned  qneen,  and  the  tall, 
stately  wuite  figure,  slender  nnd  springy  as  a 
young  willow,  bent  smilingly  right  and  left, 
wliile  the  baud  still  banged  out  its  patriotic 
tune,  and  the  crowd  still  shouted  themselves 
hoarse. 

"  Great  Heaven  !"  exclaimed  Cliffe,  "  what  a 
perfectly  beautiful  face !" 

The  young  giant  in  shooting-jacket  did  not 
answer.  From  the  first  moment  his  eyes  had 
f.llen  upon  her,  his  face  had  been  going  through 
all  tlie  phases  of  emotion  that  any  one  fitce  can 
reasonably  go  through  in  ten  minutes'  time. 
Astonishment,  admiration,  recognition,  doubt, 
and  delight,  came  over  it  like  clouds  overasum- 
ner  sky  ;  and  as  she  took  her  seat  under  the 


flower-bedecked  Maypole,  spreading  out  her 
gauzy  skirt  and  azure  ribbons,  he  broke  from 
his  companion  with  a  shout  of  "It  is!"  and 
springing  over  the  intervening  space  in  two 
bounds,  he  was  knaAlmg  at  her  feet,  raising  her 
hand  to  his  lips,  and  crying  in  a  voice  that  rang 
like  a  trumpet-tone  over  the  now  silent  plain  : 

"  Let  me  be  first  to  do  homage  to  Queen  Bar- 
bara I" 

♦'  Hurrah  for  Tom  Shirl  /  !"  said  a  laughing 
voice  in  the  crowd,  aud  "  Hurrah  I  hurrah ! 
hurrah  for  Tom  Shirley;"  shouted  th«  multi- 
tude, catching  the  infection,  until  the  tall  May- 
pole, and  the  ground  under  their  feet,  seemed  to 
ring  '"'th  the  echo.  It  was  all  so  sudden  aud 
so  stunningly  loud,  that  the  May  Queen,  half 
startled,  snatched  away  her  handf,  and  looked 
round  her  bewildered,  and  even  Tom  Shirley 
was  startled,  for  that  giant  gazed  round  at  the 
yelling  mob,  completely  taken  aback  by  his  en- 
thusiastic reception. 

"  What  the  aemon  do  the  good  people  mean  ? 
Have  they  all  gone  mad,  Barbara,  or  do  they 
intend  making  a  May  Queen  of  me,  too  ?" 

"They  certainly  ought,  if  they  have  any 
taste  I"  said  the  girl.  "  But  do  let  me  look  at 
you  again,  and  make  sure  that  it  is  really  Tom 
Shirley !" 

Tom  doifed  bis  Scotch  cap  and  made  her  a 
courtly  bow. 

"  Certainly !  Your  Majesty  may  look  as  much 
as  you  like.  You  won't  see  anything  better 
woi  h  looking  at,  if  you  search  for  a  month  of 
Sundays.  I  promise  you  that !" 

The  young  lady,  trying  to  look  grave,  but 
with  a  little  smile  ripfjling  round  her  red  lips, 
began  p,t  the  toes  of  his  Wellington  boots,  scru- 
tinized him  carefully  to  the  topmost  kink  of  his 
curly  head,  and  recommencing  there,  got  down 
to  the  soles  of  his  boots  again,  before  she  was 
prepared  to  vouch  for  his  identity. 

"  It  is  yourself,  Tom !  Nobody  else  in  the 
was  ever  such  a  Brobdignag  as  you  !  If  you  had 
only  come  a  little  earlier,  you  might  have  sav- 
ed them  the  trouble  of  seelcing  for  a  "jlay-pole  ; 
and  just  fancy  how  pretty  yon  would  look, 
twined  round  with  garlands  of  roses,  and  a  crown 
of  silver  lilies  on  your  head  I" 

Mr.  Tom  drew  himself  up  to  the  full  extent 
of  his  six  feet,  four  inches,  and  looked  down  on 
the  dark,  bright,  bt  autiful  face,  smiling  up  at 
him,  under  the  white  roses. 

"Well,  this  is  cool!  Here,  after  four  years' 
absence,  during  which  I  might  have  been'dead 
and  buried,  for  all  she  knew,  instead  of  welcom- 
ing me,  and  falling  on  my  neck,  and  embracing 
me  with  tears,  as  any  other  Christian  would  do, 
comniennes,  the  moment  she  clasps  eyes  on  me, 
calling  mo  names,  and  loading  me  with  oppro- 
brium, and" — 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Tom !  You  know  I  am  real 
glad  to  see  you!"  said  Barbara,  giving  him  her 
band,  carelessly,  "  and  as  to  falling  on  your 


ing  out  her 

broke  from 

It  iar  and 

pace  in  two 

raising  lier 

ice  that  rang 

lent  plain : 

>  Queen  Bar- 

a  laughing 

ib  !  hurrah  I 

the  niulti- 

le  tall  May- 

ct,  seemed  to 

sudden  and 

Queen,  half 

and  looked 

.om  Shirley 

round  at  the 

ok  by  his  en- 

leople  mean  ? 
I,  or  do  they 

too?" 
y  have  any 
i  me  look  at 

really  Tom 

made  her  a 

look  as  much 
f^thing  better 
'  a  month  of 

k  grave,  but 
her  red  lips, 
1  boots,  scru- 
st  kink  of  his 
ive,  got  down 
ifore  she  was 

f  else  in  the 
I  If  you  had 
;ht  have  sav- 

a  "jlay-pole ; 

would  look, 
I,  and  a  crown 

e  full  extent 
>ked  down  on 
miling  up  at 

r  four  years' 
re  been  dead 
ad  of  welcom> 
rid  embracing 
ian  would  do, 
9  eyes  on  me, 
I  with  oppro- 

low  I  am  real 
ving  him  her 
ling  on  your 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLUTE. 


45 


oecU,  I  would  have  to  olimb  up  a  ladder  or  a 
fire-escnpe  first,  to  do  it.  Bui  there,  the  band 
is  playing  the  '  Lancers',  and  everybody  is  eta-- 
ing  at  us  -,  so  do,  fur  goodneia  sake,  ask  m«;  to 
dance,  or  something,  and  let  us  get  out  of  this!" 

**  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  Miss  Black," 
said  Tom,  in  solemn  uoliteness.  '  May  I  have 
the  honor  of  your  hana  for  the  first  set  ?  Thank 
you  I  And  now— but  first,  where 's —  Oh  yes, 
Iicre  he  is.  Miss  Black,  permit  roe  to  present 
this  youthful  relative  of  mine,  Mr.  Leicester 
Cliffe,  of  Cliflfewood,  late  of  everywhere  in  gen- 
eral and  nowhere  in  particular — an  amiable 
young  person  enough,  oi  rather  vag'tbondish  in- 
clination, it  is  true,  but  I  don't  quite  despair  of 
him  yet.    Mr.  Cliffe,  Miss  Black.^' 

"  You  villain !  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your 
body  I"  said  Mr.  CliflFe,  in  a  sav  j.  undertone  to 
his  friend,  before  turning  with  ofound  bow 
to  Barbara,  whose  handkerchief  bid   an  irre- 

Sressible  smile.  "  Miss  Black,  I  trust,  knows 
[r.  Tom  Shirley  too  well  to  give  any  credit  to 
anything  he  says.  May  I  beg  the  honor  of  your 
hand  for — " 

"  You  may  beg  it,  but  you  won't  get  it,"  in- 
terrupted Tom.  "  She  is  mine  for  the  next  set, 
and  as  many  more  as  I  want — ain't  you,  Bar- 
bara?" 

"  For  the  second  then.  Miss  Black  ?  I'll  not 
leave  you  a  sound  bone  from  head  to  food !" 
said  Mr.  Cliffe,  changing  his  voice  with  start- 
ling rapidly,  as  he  addressed  first  the  lady  aad 
then  the  gentleman. 

"  With  pleasure,  sir,"  said  Barbara,  who  was 
dying  to  laugh  outright. 

And  Mr.  Leceistor  Cliflfe,  favoring  her  with 
another  bow,  witli  a  menacing  glance  at  his 
companion,  walked  away. 

"  Sic  transit  gloria  mitndi  !  They're  waiting 
for  us,  Barbara,"  said  Tom,  making  a  grimace 
after  his  relative. 

And  Barbara  burst  out  into  a  silvery  and  un- 
controllable fit  of  laughter. 

"Tom,  I'm  ashamed  of  you!  And  is  that 
really  Mr.  Leicester  Cliff?" 

"It  really  is.  What  do  know  about  him, 
pray  ?"' 

"  Notliincf.    There  !  he  is  our  vis-h-vis — actu- 
ally with  Caroline  Marsh.     I  have  had  the  honor 
of  seeing  him  once  before  in  my  life — that  is 
all !" 
"  Where  ?" 

"  There  is  a  picture  at  Cliffewood,  in  the  hall, 
of  a  pretty  little  boy,  with  long  yellow  curls 
atid  blue  eyes,  that  I  have  looked  at  many  a 
time — first,  with  you  and  Miss  Vic,  and  after- 
ward when  I  went  there  alone ;  and  I  saw  him 
on  several  occasions  when  he  was  here  six  years 
ogo." 

"  Six  years  ago  ?  Why  that  was  just  after 
you  came  to  Lower  Cliffe  at  first ;  and  I  was 
here  then,  and  I  don't  remember  anything 
about  it." 


"  No,  I  know  yon  don't ;  but  the  way  of  it 
was  simple  eno-igh.  You,  nnd  Miss  Vic,  and 
Lady  Agn<><i  and  Colonel  Shirley,  and  Miss 
Margur«t,  all  left  the  castle  three  mouths  after 
I  came  to  livi  here — you  to  Cambridge,  Miss 
Vic  to  her  .^  rc-ncli  convent.  Miss  Margaret  to  a 
London  boarding-school,  and  Lady  Agnes  and 
the  Colonel  to  Belgium.  Do  you  compre- 
hend ?" 
"  Slightly." 

"  Well,  let  us  take  our  place  then,  for  the 
quadrille  is  about  to  c<:mmence.  Sir  Roland 
was  going  away,  too,  to  Syria — was  it  not? 
And  Mr.  Leicester  came  down  frum  Oxford  to 
spend  a  week  or  two  before  his  departure  ;  and 
I  saw  him  most  every  day  hen,  and  we  were 
excellent  friends.  I  assure  you." 

"  Were  you  ?  That's  odd  ;  for  when  I  was 
speaking  of  you  ten  minutes  ago,  he  seemed  to 
know  as  little  about  you  as  I  do  about  the  pug- 
faced  lady." 

Barbara  smiled  and  shrugged  her  pretty 
shoulders. 

"  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind  1  Monsieur  has 
forgotten  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  barbarian !  As  if  any  one  in  their 
proper  senses  could  ever  see  you  and  forget 
you !  Ever  since  we  parted,"  said  Tom,  laying 
bis  hand  with  pathos  on  the  left  side  of  his 
green  jacket,  "  you  have  been  my  star  by  day 
and  my  dream  by  night — the  sun  of  my  exist- 
ence, and  the  cherished  idol  of  my  yuung  affec- 
tions. Don't  be  laughing ;  it's  truth  I'm  tell- 
ing!" 

'^  Bah !  don't  be  talking  nonsense !  Do  you 
remember  the  night  you  nearly  broke  your 
neck,  and  I  saved  you  and  your  two  cousins 
from  the  Demon's  'Tower  ?" 

"  That  was  six  years  ago — a  long  stretch  to 
look  back ;  but  as  if  I  could  forget  anything 
you  ever  had  a  baud  in,  Barbara!" 

"  III  box  your  ears.  Sir,  if  you  i.aep  on  mak- 
ing an  idiot  of  yourself  I  You  remember  I  was 
up  the  next  day  to  the  castle,  and  enjoyed  the 
pleasure  of  the  first  chat  I  ever  had  with  you  ; 
aad  we  had  a  terrific  quarrel,  that  raged  lor  at 
least  three  days  ?" 

"  I  remember.  I  told  you  that  when  I  grew 
up  and  married  Vic,  you  should  be  my  second 
wife,  and  that  whichever  I  found  suited  me  best 
should  be  first  sultana.  Well,  now,  Barbara, 
to  make  amends,  suppose  you  become  first, 
and—" 

"  Stuflf !  Tell  me  where  you  dropped  from  so 
unexpectedly  to-day  ?" 

"  From  Cliffewood  the   last  place.     I  came 
down  with  Leicester  in  last  evening's  train." 
"  Are  you  going  to  remain  ?" 
"  'So,  indeed.    I'm  off  again  to-night." 
"  A  flying  visit,  truly.    Did  you  come  for  a 
coal,  Mr!  Tom,  and  want  to  get  back  to  London 
with  it  before  it  goes  out  ?" 
"  Nut  exactly.    I  came  to  poke  up  that  super* 


46 


UNAIASKED  •  OR, 


\ 


annuated  old  dame,  Mro.  Wilder,  tritb  tbe  iu- 
tt'lligencti  tlint  my  Lady  and  auito  are  to  arrive 
thin  duy  niuntli  at  tlie  oastle." 

"  Is  It  pos8ii)le  ?     Are  all  coming  ?" 

"  All.  My  Lady,  the  Colonel,  Miss  Sbirley, 
and  Miss  Margaret  Shirley,  not  to  mention  a 
wbole  drove  of  visitura,  who  are  expected  down 
later  in  the  summer." 

*•  And  Miss  Vic— is  she  well,  and  as  pretty  as 
ever  ?" 

*'  Pretty  !  I  believe  you  !  •  She's  all  my 
fancy  painted  her ;  she's  divine' ,  and  her  heart 
it  is  no  others,  and  I'm  bound  it  shall  be  mine! 
Did  you  hear  she  was  preseuted  at  court  ?" 

"  I  read  it  in  the  papers,  with  a  full  account 
of  her  diamonds,  and  moir^  antique,  and  honi- 
ton  lace,  and  tlie  sensation  she  created,  and 
everything  else.  I  suppose  she  has  been  hav- 
ing a  very  gay  winter  ?"  said  Barbara,  with  a 
little  envious  sigh. 

"  Stunning  I  It's  her  first  season  out,  and 
she  has  made  a  small  regiment  of  conquests 
already.  You  ouglit  to  sae  her,  Uarbara,  m  her 
diamonds  and  lace,  looking  down  on  her  multi- 
tude of  adorers  like  a  prii'cesa,  nnd  eclipsing 
all  the  reigning  belles  of  Loadon.  One  of  her 
lovers— a  poor  devil  of  a  poet,  who  was  half 
mad  about  her — christened  her  tiie  '  Rose  of 
Sussex' ;  and,  upon  my  word,  she  is  far  more 
widely  known  by  that  title  than  as  Miss  Shirley." 

"  Oh !"  said  Barbfira,  drawing  in  her  breath 
hard,  "  if  I  only  were  she !" 
.  "  If  you  were,*^  said  Tom,  echoing  the  sigh, 
'"I  would  wish  you  to  possess  a  little  more 
heart  With  all'  her  beauty,  and  her  smiles, 
and  her  coquetry,  she  is  as  finished  a  co- 
quette as  ever  broke  a  heart.  The  girl  is  made 
of  ice.  You  might  kneel  down  and  sigh  out 
your  soul  at  her  feet,  and  she  would  laugh  at 
you  for  your  pains!" 

''  Slie  must  have  changed  greatly,  then,  since 
■he  left  there  six  years  ago." 

"  Cliauged  !  There  never  was  such  change — 
improvement,  perhaps,  some  people  would  call 
it ;  but  I  can't  see  it.  She  used  to  be  Vic  Shirley, 
then,  but  now  she  is  Miss  or  Mademoiselle  Gen- 
evieve ;  and  with  all  that  satin  and  crinoline 
floating  around  her,  a  fellow  can  only  look  on 
and  admire  from  a  ri>speotful  distance.  Have 
you  never  seen  her  since  ?" 

"  Never !  But,"  said  Barbara,  with  a  sudden 
crimsoning,  that  might  have  been  pride  or  any 
other  feeling,  deepening  the  rose-hue  on  her 
cheek,  "  she  wrote  me  one  letter !" 

"  IIow  generous !  And  you  saved  her  life, 
too!    What  was  it  about?" 

"  It  was  ft  year  ago,"  said  Barbara,  in  a  low 
tone  :  "  a  few  months  before  she  left  school,  and 
the  Colonel  brought  it  from  Paris — you  may 
have  heard  she  was  here  for  a  few  Says  last 
May.  The  Emperor  and  Empress  had  viRited 
her  convent-school,  and  she  had  been  chosen  to 
speak    an  address,   and   present  a  bouquet  to 


each,  and  the  Emperor  was  struck  by  her — by 
her  beauty,  perhaps,"  ivith  a  litile  tremor  of 
the  clear  voice  ;  "  and  when  it  was  all  over,  be 
name  up  to  her  and  inquirecl  her  name,  and 
chatted  with  her  for  some  time,  to  the  great 
envy  of  all  the  rest  of  the  school." 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  of  all  that!'  said  Tom,  with 
an  impatient  shrug.  '*  Lady  Agnes  has  taken 
care  to  tore  hvir  dear  five  hundred  friends  wiih 
it  at  least  a  thousand  times  !" 

'*  Vea  i  but  that  is  not  all.  Next  day  there 
came  to  the  convent  a  little  casket  of  purple* 
velvet  and  ivory  for  Mademoiselle  Shirley,  bear- 
ing tbe  imperial  arms,  and  within  there  whs  a 
superb  chain  of  gold  and  seed  pearls,  with  two 
lovely  pearl  iiearts  set  in  gold,  and  rubies 
united  by  a  scroll  bearing  the  letter  '  N '  at- 
tached. It  was  the  gift  of  the  Emperor ;  and 
Miss  Victoria  gave  me  tbe  whole  account  in  her 
letter  ,  and  the  Colonel  had  a  duplicate  made  in 
Paris,  and  gave  it  to  me — only,"  said  Barbara, 
laughing,  with  tears  iu  her  eyes,  "  with  his 
cipher  instead  of  the  imperial  one." 

•'  That  was  prime  !  And  why  don't  you  wear 
his  pretty  present?'* 

"I  always  do,  liere,"  tapping  lightly  on  her 
white  corsage.  •'  I  shall  never  part  with  it  till 
I  die !  And  are  you  going  to  marry  your 
cousin,  Tom?" 

•  i  don't  know !"  said  Tom,  with  a  groan.  ••  I 
wish  to  Heaven  I  could  ;  but  it  doesn't  depend 
on  me,  unfortunately.  She  is  encircled  from 
week's  end  to  week's  *end  with  a  crowd  of  per- 
ftimed  Adonises,  who  always  flutter  around 
heiresses  like  moths  round  a  lighted  candle  ;i 
and  girls  are  such  inconceivable  fools,  than  they 
are  always  sure  to  prefer  one  of  those  nicely- 
winged  moths  to  a  straightforward,  honest,  sen- 
sible, practical  man.  Miserable  little  popinjays ! 
I  could  take  the  best  of  them  by  tlie  waistband 
and  lay  them  low  in  the  kennel,  any  day,  if  I 
liked !" 

"  You  great  big  monster !  Then  the  great 
bear  has  actually  lost  his  heart  I" 

"Great  bear!  You  are  all  alike;  and  her 
pet  name  for  me  is  Ursa  Major,  too!" 

"  But  you  are  really  in  love,  Tom  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  that,  either !"  groaned  Tom. 
"  Sometimes  I  love  her — sometimes  I  hate  her! 
and  then,  she  is  provoking  enough  to  make  a 
meetinghouse  swear!  Oh,  there's  old  Sweet, 
the  lawyer,  as  j^Ilow  and  smiling  as  ever,  dally- 
ing along  with  Leicester,  and  I  suppose  I  must 
give  you  up  to  him  for  one  set,  at  lea^t !  By« 
the- way,  how  is  the  governor  and  the  old  lady  ?" 

*'  If  yon  mean  my  father  and  grandmotner, 
they  are  as  well  as  usual." 

"  Well,  that's  jolly— beg  your  pardon  !  Ursa 
Major  lias  bruinish  ways  of  talking,  and  th?y 
never  could  knock  any  manners  into  me  tU 
Cambridge.  Oh,  I  see  something  nice  over 
there,  and  I'm  going  to  ask  her  tor  the  next 
dance." 


OJF  wen 
suave  and 
smiling  b^> 
"  I   beli 
lady  fair," 
and  Tom  i 
i.''  one  mi{j 
Barbaru 
"Tom  I 
when    old 
things  to  e 
"  Sfr.  CI 
when  I  wa 
"Oh,bu 
with  anotb 
"  Well, 
you  ?    Bai 
anter  and 
GliflFe." 
Barbara 
"  If  I  w< 
he  talk  to 
do  mi  table 
rose  up,  ai 
fire  to  be) 
haughty  lil 
"Six  ye 
said,  ooldlj 
forgotten  r 
"Miss  B 
hav^  been 
myself,"  h 
little  wild- 
knee  and  s 
cease   to 
shall  have 
There  w 
and  Barba 
ed  at  his 
speeches 
was  glowin 
her  eye 
Mr.  Sweet, 
iUid  not  pa 
The  hei; 
daughter 
quadrille, 
upon  then 
Shirley 
nearly  as 
— that  wai 
•'  What 
bad  said. 
And  a 
young  art 
eyes,  his 
tic  iace,  ai 
with  roaet 
pride,  as 
gauzy  whi 
worn  witl 
her  finger 
they  moT 


w 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


47 


ick  by  her— by 
ittle  tremor  of 
'08  all  over,  be 
her  name,  and 
e,  to  the  great 
I." 

said  Tom,  with 
^nca  baa  tflkea 
ed  fritiuds  wiib 

Next  day  tbere 
isket  of  purple- 
le  Shirley,  bear- 
,biu  tbere  whs  a 
pearls,  with  two 

Id,  and  rubies 
(  letter  *  N  '  at- 
I  Emperor ;  and 
e  accuuut  in  her 
iiplicate  made  ia 

/'  said  Barbara, 
yes,  "  with  bis 
ue." 

don't  you  wear 

lightly  on  ber 
part  witb  it  till 
to    marry  your 

ith  a  groan.  "  I 
t  doesn't  depend 
8  encircled  from 

a  crowd  uf  per- 
(    flutter  around 

lighted  candle  o 
e  fools,  that,  tbey 
I  of  tbose  nicely- 
ard,  boiiest.  sen- 
!  little  popinjays! 
bytlie  waistband 
nel,  any  day,  if  I 

Tbfcn  the  great 

tr 

i  alike ;  and  her 
r,  too!" 
i,  Tom  ?" 
• !"  groaned  Tom. 
times  I  bate  her ! 
nough  to  make  a 
bore's  old  Sweet, 
ing  as  ever,  dally- 
I  suppose  I  must 
set,  at  lea4 !  By* 
ind  the  old  lady  ?" 
ind  grand  motner, 

ur  pardon  !  Ursa 
talking,  and  tb'jy 
nnera  into  me  at 
letbing  nice  over 
:  ber  tor  tbe  nest 


t  rocket,  and  up  carne, 
eiceHterClitTe,  witb  tbe 


Off  went  Tom,  like 
suave  and  grnceful,.Mr 
smiling  b^;ent  of  iKdy  Agnes  Sbirloy. 

"  I    Delie«re   I   bave   the   bouor  of  the  next, 
lady  fair,"  said  tbe  younc  gentleman.     "  You 
and  Tom  tppeared  to  preier  talking  to  dancing, 
if  one  might  judge  from  appearances." 
Barbara  laughed. 

"  Tom  and  I  are  old  friends,  Mr.  Cliflfe ;  and 
when  old  friends  me6\  they  bave  a  thousand 
Uiines  to  say  to  each  otl  er." 

"  Mr.  Cliffo  and  you  uted  to  call  me  Leicester 
when  I  was  here  before." 

•'  Oh,  but  you  were  a  boy,  tben !"  said  Barbara, 
with  another  gay  laugh  and  vivid  blusb. 

'*  Well,  just  think  I'm  a  boy  again,  won't 
you  ?  Barbara  and  Leicester  are  much  pleas- 
anter  and  shorter  than  Miss  Black  and  Mr. 
Gliffe." 
Barbara  did  not  speak. 
"  If  I  were  a  lady,"  was  her,  thought,  "  would 
be  talk  to  me  like  this  I"  And  all  the  fierce  in- 
domitable pride,  asleep  but  not  dead,  within  ber 
rose  up,  and  sent  a  crimson  to  her  cheek  and  a 
fire  to  her  eye,  and  a  sudden  uplifting  of  the 
haughty  little  head. 

"  Six  years  is  a  long  time,  Mr.  Gliffe !"  i^^he 
said,  coldly  ;  "  and  haa  an  hour  Ago  you  bad 
forgotten  me  I" 

*'  Miss  Barbara,  I  have  sinned  in  doing  so,  and 
have  been  repenting  of  it  ever  since.  I  accuse 
myself,"  be  said,  penitently,  "  of  forgetting  tbe 
httle  wild-eyed  gipay  who  used  to  sit  on  my 
knee  and  smg  for  me  '  Lang-syne' ;  but  when  I 
cease  to  forget  the  May  Queen  of  to-day,  I 
shall  have  ceased  to  forget  all  things  earthly  !" 
There  was  a  low,  mocking  laugh  behind  them, 
and  Barbara  turned  round.  She  bad  not  laugh- 
ed at  his  speech  aa  she  had  done  at  similar 
speechea  from  Tom  Shirley,  and  uer  dark  face 
waa  glowing  like  tbe  heart  of  a  June  roae  when 
her  eye  fell  on  tbe  laugher.  But  it  waa  only 
Mr.  Sweet,  talking  to  a  vivacious  little  damsel. 
lUid  not  paying  any  attention  to  them  at  all. 

The  heir  of  Cliffewood  and  the  fisherman's 
daughter  took  their  station  at  the  head  of  the 
quadrille,  and  hundreds  of  eyes  turned  curiously 
upon  them.  The  gulf  between  herself  and  Tom 
Snirley  was  not  bo  very  wide,  for  Tom  was 
nearly  as  poor  aa  she ;  but  tbe  heir  of  Cliffewood 
—that  was  quite  another  thing ! 

"  What  a  handsome  couple!"  more  than  one 
bad  said,  in  a  stage  whisper. 

And  a  handsome  couple  tbey  were.  Tlie 
young  artist,  witb  his  dreamy  brow,  bis  epiendid 
eyes,  his  fair  brown  liair,  bis  proud  characteris- 
tic fice,  aud  princely  bearing :  tbe  girl  crowned 
with  roses,  and  crowned  with  her  beauty  and 
pride,  aa  a  far  more  regal  diadem  ;  her  dreaa  of 
gauzy  white  a  ducbeaa  or  a  peoaont  might  have 
worn  with  equal  propriety,  looking  a  lady  to 
her  finger-tips.  The  whicper  reached  them  as 
they  moved  away  at   the    conclusion   of  th^ 


dance,  she  leaning  lightly  on  his  arm;  and  be 
turned  to  ber  with  a  smile. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  f    Tbey  call  you  and  I  a 
eouple,  i^arbara?" 

"  Village  gossips  will  make  remarks !"  said 
the  young  lady,  with  infinite  composure  ;  "  and 
over  in  that  field  there  are  a  horse  and  an  ox 
coupled.  Noble  aud  inferior  animals  should  find 
their  own  level." 
"  You  ore  pleased  to  be  sarcastic." 
*'  Not  at  all.  Where  have  you  been  all  these 
years,  Mr.  Cliffe  ?" 

*'  Over  tbe  world.  I  made  the  grand  tour 
when  I  left  Oxford  four  years  ago ;  then  T  vis- 
ited the  East ;  and,  last  of  all,  I  went  to  Amer- 
ica. This  day  six  weeks,  I  was  in  New  York." 
"  America  I  Ah  !  I  should  like  to  go  there ! 
It  has  been  my  dream  all  my  life." 
"Aud  why?" 

She  did  not  speak.  Her  eyes  wer)  downcast, 
and  her  cheeks  crimson. 

"  Will  your  majesty  not  tell  your  most  faith- 
ful subject,"  be  said,  laughing  in  a  careless 
way,  that  reminded  her  of  Colonel  SI  iley  ; 
and,  indeed,  his  every  look,  and  toae,  anj  smile 
reminded  ber  of  tbe  absent  Indian  ofiScer,  and 
made  ber  think  far  more  tenderly  of  Mr.  Leices- 
ter Cliffe  than  she  could  otherwise  have  done ; 
for  Barbara  bad  tbe  strongest  and  strangest  af« 
fection  for  the  handsome  Colonel  iu  the  world. 

"  Why  would  you  like  to  go  to  America  ?"  he 
reiterated,  looking  at  her  curiously. 

She  raised  ber  eyes  flasbfjg  with  a  strange 
fire,  and  drew  her  band  hasti.y  from  his  arm. 

"  Because  all  are  equals  rhere.  Excuse  me, 
Mr.  Cliffe  ;  I  am  engaged  yj  Mr.  Sweet  for  this 
cotillion." 

Ue  looked  after  her  with  a  strange  smile,  as 
she  moved  away  treading  tbe  ground  as  if  she 
werci  indeed  a  queen. 

"  You  will  smg  another  tune  come  day,  my 
haughty  little  beauty,"  said  be,  to  himself,  "  oi- 
my  power  will  fail  for  onoo" 

The  day  passed  delightfully.  There  was  thv9 
dinne:  on  the  grass,  and  more  dancing,  and  long 
pronr.enades ;  and  tbe  May  Queens  innumera- 
ble admirers  uttered  curses  not  loud  but  deep,  to 
fi.ud  Mr.  Leicester  Cliffe  devoted  himself  to  her 
all  day,  aa  if  she  had  been  tbe  greatest  lady  in 
tbe  land.  To  contest  any  prize  against  such  a 
rival  was  not  to  be  thought  of ;  and,  when  sup- 
per vvas  over,  and  tbe  stars  were  out,  and  tne 
young  May  moon  roae  up,  tbe  Leir  of  Cliffe- 
wood walked  home  with  the  cotuige-beauty  on 
bia  arm.  Tom  Shirley  had  taken  the  evening 
train  for  London,  and  there  waa  nonf>  to  tell 
tales  out  of  school. 

Tbe  sea  lay  aaleep  in  the  moo.  light,  and  the 
fisbing-boata  danced  over  the  silvery  ripples 
under  the  bush  of  tbe  solemn  stars. 

"  Oh,  what  a  night !"  exclaimed  Barbara. 
"  What  a  moon  that  is !  end  what  a  multitude 
pf  stars !    It  seems  to  me,"  with  a  light  laugh, 


48 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


>■■' 


%> 


"  tbey  never  were  bo  many  or  so  beautiful  be- 
fore.'"' 

"  They're  all  beautiful,"  said  Leioeater,  apeuk- 
ing  of  tbeui  and  lookiuK  at  ber.  "  But  I  have 
Been  a  star  brighter  tuao  anv  there,  to-dny  t 
Fairest  Barbara.     Qood  night. ' 

Tbuie  same  slandered  stars  watohed  Mr.  Lei- 
cester Clitfe  slowly  riding  homeward  in  their 
Elacid  light,  and  watched  him  fall  usleqp,  with 
is  head  on  his  arm,  and  the  stiwe  queer  half 
smile  on  his  lipit,  to  dream  of  Barbara. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THK  WAUNINO. 

Sir  Roland  Gliffe  flat  in  his  dining-room  at 
Cliffewood — a  pleasant  room,  witii  a  velvet  car- 
pet of  crimson  and  white  on  the  floor  ;  crinisun- 
satiu  curtains  draping  the  French  windows  that 
opened  on  a  sunny  sweep  of  lawn  ;  pictures  on 
the  satin-paueled  wails — pretty  pictures  in  gild- 
ed frames,  of  fruit  and  the  chase,  with  green 
glimpses  of  Indian  jungles,  American   prairies, 
and  Cnnndian  forests — the  Utter,  the  work  of 
Sir  Rolanil  B  heir.    Sir  Roland  himself  sat  in  a 
great  arm-chair  of  crimson  velvet,  with  gilded 
back  aud  arms — a  corpulent  gentlemen  of  fifty, 
much  addicted  to  that  'gentlemanly  disease,  the 
gout — before  au  antique  mahogany  table,  draped 
with  the  snowiest  of  damask,  strewn  with  bas- 
kets of  silver  filagree,   heaped   with   oranges, 
grapes,  and  nuts,  aud  flanked  with  sundry  cut- 
glass  decanters  of  ruby  port  and  golden  sherry. 
An   open  letter  lay  on  the  table,  in  a  dainty 
Italian  hand,  that  began,  "  My  dear  Brother"  ; 
and  while  the  May  sunshine  aud  breezes  floated 
blandly  through  the  crimson  curtains,  Sir  Ro- 
land Hipped  his  pale  sherry,  munched  his  wal- 
nuts uud  grapes,  auJ  ruminated   deeply.     He 
bad  sat  quite  alone  over  his  dessert,  making  bis 
meditations,  when  right  in  the  middle  of  an  un- 
usually profound   one    came   the   sound   of  a 
light,  oi'ick  step  on  the  terrace   without,  the 
sweet  notes  of  a  c'ear  voice   singing,    "  The 
Lass  o'  Oowrie",  and  the  next  minute  the  door 
was  t.'.^^wn    open,   and    Mr.    Leicnster    ClifFe 
walked  in,  with  his  huge  Canadian  wolf-dog  by 
his  side.     The  young  gentleman  wore  a  shoot- 
ing-costume, and  had  a  gun  in  his  hand  ;  and 
the  sea-side  sun  and  wind  seemed  to  agree  with 
him  mightily,  for  there  was  a  glow  on  his  pale 
cheek,  aud  a  dancing  light  m  his   luminous 
eyes. 

"  Late,  as  usual !"  was  his  salutation,  as  he 
stood  his  gun  in  a  corner,  and  flung  his  wid< 
awake  on  a  sofa.     "  I  intended  to  be  the  soul  of 

Sunctuality,  to-day  ;  but  the  time  goes  here  one 
oesn't  know  how,  and  I  only  found  out  it  was 
getting  late  by  feeling  half-lamished.    Hope  I 
aven't  kept  you  waiting  ?" 
"  I  have  not  waited,"  said  Sir  Roland.  "  Ring 
the  bell,  and  they'll  bring  your  dinner.    Been 
gunning,  I  aee  f    I  hope  with  more  success  than 
vsual." 


*  I  am  sorry  to  p  y  not.  Loup  and  I  have 
•pent  our  day  and  bagged  nothing." 

"  Very  shy  K^'ne  yours  must  be,  I  think." 

"It  is!"  sniif Leicester,  with  emphasis. 

"  Well,  you'll  have  the  chance  to  aim  at 
game  of  another  sort,  soon — hieh  game,  too, 
my  boy  I    Here  is  a  letter  from  Lady  Agnes." 

'*  Indeed !" 

"  And  it  contains  a  pressing  invitation  fbr 
you  to  go  up  to  London  and  be  present  at  a 
ball  her  ladyship  gives  in  a  few  days." 

"Does  it?    I  won't  go  I" 

"  You  will  go  I    Listen  : 

"  '  Tell  Leicester  to  be  sure  to  come,  Roland.  I  wonld 
not  have  him  absent  for  the  world.  It  is  ul>oiit  the  laal 
ball  of  tii«  season,  and  he  will  meet  scores  of  old  friends, 
who  will  iMiaDxiouH  to  see  him  after  all  those  years  of 
hentlieniih  wandering.  And  you  know  there  is  another, 
and  still  stronger  reason,  my  deur  brother,  for  if  the 
proposed  alliance  between  Victoria  and  him  erer  be- 
comes  an  established  factj  I  am  extremely  desirous  to 
have  Jt  settled,  and  the  engagement  publicly  mads 
known  before  we  leave  London.'  " 

Sir  Roland  laid  down  the  letter  at  this  pas- 
sage, and  looked  complacently  across  the  table 
at  his  stepson  ;  and  that  young  gentleman,  who 
had  been  paying  profound  attention  to  his  din- 
ner, and  very  little  to  ber  lady's  letter,  now 
raised  an  eye  haughty  and  indignant. 

"  The  proposed  alliance  !  What  does  Lady 
Agnes  mean  by  that?" 

"  Precisely  what  she  says,  my  dear  boy.  Paw 
those  oranges,  if  you  please." 

"  That  I'm  to  niarry  her  granddaughter.  Miss 
Victoria  Shirley  y" 

"  Exactly  !  Oh,  you  needn't  fire  up  like  that. 
The  matter  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
Lady  Agnes  and  1  have  intended  you  for  one 
another  ever  since  little  Vic  first  came  from 
France." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you  both  ;  at  the  same 
time,  I  beg  to  decline  the  honor." 

"  You  will  do  notliing  of  the  kind  I  It  is  the 
most  reasonable  and  well-assorted  match  in  the 
world.  You  are  both  young,  both  good-look- 
ing, both  of  the  same  family,  yet  unrelated,  and 
thi.'  two  estates  will  join  admirably,  and  make 
you  one  of  the  richest  landed  gentlemen  in  Eng- 
land." 

"  Unanswerable  arguments,  all.  Still  permit 
me  to  decline." 

"  And  why,  pray  ?"  'nquired  Sir  Roland, 
slightly  raising  his  voice. 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  said  the  young  gentleman, 
filling  with  precision  his  glass  wi*h  sherry,  "  I 
am  infinitely  obliged  to  her  ladyship  end  yourself 
for  selecting  a  wife  for  me  in  this  most  royally 
and  courtly  fashion  ;  but  still,  strange  as  it  may 
appear,  I  have  always  had  the  vague  notion  that 
I  should  like  to  select  the  lady  myself.  It 
seems  a  little  unreasonable,  fallow,  but  then  it's 
a  whim  I  have." 

"  Stuflf  and  nonsense'!  What  would  ibe  boy 
have?  If  you  want  riobes,  she  is  the  iichest 
ixeirese  in  the  kingdom :  and  if  you  waut  beau* 


ty,  you 

not  see  n 
•'  I  doi 
her." 

"You 
the  same 
"  I  lia\ 
old  hall, 
round  bl 
eipid,  I  a: 
oi  miik  u 
Gtyle  of  J 
cream-cai 
their  waj 
ever." 

"  Speal 
oream-car 
the  hand 
"  Reall; 
Dt^int-blar 
Ins  Shir 
BtatI  iner'« 
Or,  1.*  tha 
party  io  t 
»  She  k 
made  kno 
London." 
"And  d 
ty,  an  lieii 
cles,  with 
feet,  will  c 
jump  into 
The  day 
English  g| 
Eastern  sli 
"  She  is 
birth  and  [ 
heart;  an| 
to  this  st^ 
opposing 
what  you  I 
military  si 
tions  as 
kangarooJ 

"And 

Miss  Shirl 

mother. 

daughter  I 

"I'llbJ 

insinuate 

furiously! 

Iiis   heat 

"  Miss  SI 

worthless 

Sir,  I  ha^ 

make  To| 

her  the 

objection! 

Leicesff 

"I  do 

and  Lad J 

tors  ever) 

to  unite  r 


THE  HEIRESS  Or  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


4» 


ear  bov.    Pass 


at  tbe  same 


tj,  yon  mny  search  the  three  kingdoina  and 
Dot  Bee  anything  like  her." 

"  I  duu't  know  about  that.  I  have  never  Been 
her." 

*'  You  Iinve  seen  her  picture,  then.  It  is  all 
the  same  in  Greek." 

"  I  have  looked  at  a  picture  over  there  in  the 
old  hall,  of  a  very  pink-nnd-wliite  daniBol,  with 
round  blue  eyea  and  coiorleBS  hair,  and  as  in- 
sipid, I  am  ready  to  make  inv  affidavit,  as  a  mug 
or  milk  and  water.  1  don't  funoy  the  small-beer 
Gtyle  of  young  ladies  ;  and  as  for  her  beauty — 
cream-candy  and  strawberries  nro  very  nice  in 
tlicir  way,  but  nobody  can  live  on  them  for- 
ever." 

"  Speak  plain  English,  Sir,  and  never  mind 
cream-candy.  Do  you  mean  to  aay  you  refuse 
the  hand  of  Miss  Shirley  ?" 

"  Really,  Sir  Kolanu,  3  ou  have  the  most 
pi^int-blanlt  way  of  putting  questions.  Does 
Alns  Shirley  know  that  she  is  to  remain,  like  a 
Btatr)ner'8  parcel,  to  be  left  till  I  call  for  her? 
Or,  i>  that  is  not  plain  enough  English,  is  she  a 
party  io  this  affair  ?" 

"  She  knows  nothing  about  it ;  but  it  will  be 
made  known  to  her  as  soon  as  you  arrive  in 
London." 

"  And  do  you  suppose.  Sir,  that  she,  a  beau- 
ty, an  heiress,  a  belle,  moving  in  the  first  cir- 
cles, with  all  the  best  men  of  the  day  at  her 
feet,  will  consent  to  be  made  a  puppet  of,  ond 
iuinp  into  my  arms  the  moment  I  open  them  ? 
The  diiy  has  passed  for  such  things.  Sir,  and 
English  girls  ore  too  spunky  to  be  traded  like 
Eastern  slaves." 

"  She  is  no  English  girl.  She  is  French  by 
birth  and  education  ;  French  to  the  core  of  her 
heart;  and,  being  French,  slie  is  too  well  used 
to  this  style  of  thing  to  dream  for  a  moment  of 
opposing  the  will  of  her  guardians.  The  girl  is 
what  you  are  not — as  obedient  as  if  trained  in  a 
military  school.  A  girl  with  such  French  no- 
tions as  she  has,  would  almost  marry  a  live 
kangaroo,  if  her  friends  desired  her." 

"  And  that  in  itself  is  another  objection. 
Miss  Shirley,  as  you  say,  is  French,  So  was  her 
mother.  Would  you  have  a  Cliffe  murry  the 
daughter  of  a  French  actress  ?" 

"  I'll  break  your  head  with  this  decanter  if  you 
insinuate  such  a  thing  again  !"  said  Sir  Roland, 
furiously  ;  for  there  was  still  a  tender  spot  in 
his  heart  sacred  to  the  memory  of  7ivia, 
"  Miss  Shirley  is  altogether  too  good  for  such  a 
worthless  scapegrace  as  yoursel*  And  I  vow. 
Sir,  I  have  half  a  mind  to  disinherit  you  and 
make  Tom  Shirley  my  heir.  He  would  marry 
her  the  moment  he  was  asked,  without  the  least 
objection." 

Leicester  laughed  at  the  threat. 

'*  I  do  not  doubt  it  in  the  least.  Sir.  But  you 
and  Lady  Agnes  are  the  most  artless  conspira- 
tors ever  I  heard  of.  Now,  when  you  wanted  us 
to  unite  our  fovtunes,  your  plan  was  to  have 


brought  us  together  in  aone  romantio  and  un> 
usual  way,  and  warned  us,  under  the  most  fright- 
ful penalties,  not  to  dream  of  ever  being  any- 
thing but  acquaintances.  The  conaiquence 
Would  have  been,  a  aevero  attack  of  the  grand 
paenion,  and  an  elopement  in  a  fortnight.  I 
compliment  you,  Sir,  by  saying  that  you  hare 
no  more  art  than  if  you  were  five  instead  of 
fifty  years  old," 

"  We  don't  wont  to  be  artful.  The  matter  la 
to  be  arranged  in  tho  most  plain  and  straight- 
forward manner— nothing  occeitful  or  under- 
hand about  it.  If  you  choose  to  marry  Misa 
Shirley,  and  gratify  tho  dearest  wish  o'  my 
heart,  I  shall  be  grateful  and  happy  all  my  life  , 
if  you  prefer  declining,  well  and  good.  Vic  will 
get  a  better  man,  and  I  shall  know  how  to  treat 
my  dutiful  stepson." 

"  Is  that  meant  for  a  threai.  Sir  Roland  ?" 

"  You  may  conotrue  it  in  any  way  yon  choose, 
Mr,  Leicester  Cliffe,  but  I  certainly  have  count- 
ed without  hesitation  on  your  consent  in  this 
matter  for  the  last  six  years." 

"  But,  my  dear  Sir,  don't  talk  as  if  the  affair 
all  rested  with  me.  Miss  Shirley  may  be  the 
first  to  decline." 

••  I  tell  you  she  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
Miss  Shirley  will  obey  her  natural  guardians, 
and  marry  you  any  moment  you  ask  her." 

"A. most  dignified  position  for  the  young 
lady,"  said  Leicester,  with  a  slight  shrug  and 
smile,  as  he  proceeded  with  solicitude  to  light 
his  cigar.  "  Of  course,  her  father  knows  all 
about  this." 

"  Her  father  knows  nothing  of  it  as  yet.  He 
is  one  of  those  men  who  set  their  faces  against 
anything  like  coercion,  and  who  would  not  have 
his  daughter's  wishes  forced  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree." 

"  I  admire  his  good  sense.  And  8upp6se  I 
consent  to  this  step,  when  shall  I  start  for  Lon- 
don ?" 

"  To-morrow  morning,  in  the  first  traha. 
There  is  no  time  to  be  lost,  if  you  wish  to  arrive 
for  the  ball." 

"  And  the  first  thing  I  have  to  do  upon  getting 
there,  I  suppose,  is,  to  step  up  to  the  young 
lady,  hot  in  hand,  and  say :  Miss  Shirley,  your 
grandmother  and  my  father  have  agreed  that 
we  should  marry.  I  don't  core  a  snap  for  you, 
but  at  their  express  command  I  hove  come  here 
to  moke  you  my  wife.  How  do  you  liiie  tho 
style  of  that,  Sir  ?" 

"  You  may  propose  any  way  you  please,  so 
thot  you  do  it.  She  is  a  sen.^ible  girl,  and  will 
understand  it.     You  will  go,  then  ?" 

"  Here  Loup !"  said  the  young  man,  holding 
out  a  bunch  ot  grapes  to  hi-  dog,  by  way  of  an- 
swer; "get  down  off  that  velvet  ottoman  dN 
rectly.  What  do  you  suppose  our  worthy 
housekeeper  will  say,  when  she  finds  the  tracks 
of  your  dirty  paws  6n  its  whiteness  ?" 

"  I  knew  all  along  you  irould  go,"  said  Sir 


00 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


Roland,  filling  bit  glnss.  "  Here's  h«r  health  in 
old  port,  Aud  suooeaa  to  you  both  t  The  only 
natoiiishing  thing  is,  liuw  you  oould  havu  ru- 
UMiinuil  here  bo  long.  When  yuu  gut  hfro  first, 
two  weeks  ago,  you  told  ni«t  before  you  hn«l 
been  five  minutes  in  the  house  thnt  yuU  would 
die  of  eunui  to  stay  hero  a  week  ;  l>ut  two  of 
them  havu  passed  now,  and  hvre  you  r'e,  a  per- 
mantMit  fixture,  and  not  a  word  of  ennui.  To 
be  sure  there  are  amusements,  you  can  go  out 
■booting  erery  morning,  and  return  every  even- 
ing empty-bandeil ;  you  o^m  go  out  sailing, 
there  are  plenty  of  boats  in  Lower  Cliife,  and 
there  are  plenty  agreeable  fishermen,  too,  with 
handsome  daugltters." 

It  might  have  been  the  reflection  of  the  cur« 
tains — tue  young  gentleman  was  standing  by  the 
window  smoking,  and  contemplating  the  scen- 
ery ;  but  his  face  turned  crimson. 

"There  is  one  partionlnrly,"  went  on  Sir  Ro- 
land, dryly.  "  Black  i»  the  man.  I  think — very 
fine  fellow,  I  have  no  donbt,  with  a  tail,  dark- 
haired  daughter.  Barb.-.r ;  ia  a  nice  little  girl, 
always  was,  and  will  teach  you  to  row  and  catch 
lobsters  to  perfection,  very  likely  ;  but  still  Mr. 
Leicester  Cliffe  has  other  duties  to  fulfill  in  life 
besides  those  two.  Take  care,  my  dear  boy, 
and  when  you  reach  London,  don*t  talk  too 
much  of  the  fisherman's  girl  to  the  heiress  of 
Castle  Cliffe." 

The  young  man  had  been  standing  with  bis 
foot  on  the  window-sill  during  this  harangue; 
now  he  stepped  out  on  the  lawn. 

"  I  will  go  to  London  to-morrow.  Sir,"  he  said 
quietly ;  and  wa«  hid  from  view  by  the  screen- 
ing curtains. 

Flinging  away  his  cigar,  he  strode  around  to 
the  stables  with  his  dog  at  his  heels,  an!  without 
waiting  to  change  hie  dress,  mounted  hia  horse, 
aud  in  five  minutes  after  was  dashing  along  in 
the  direction  of  Lower  Cliffe.  A  horse  in  that 
small  village  would  have  created  a  sensation, 
Mr.  Leicester  never  brought  one  there,  and  he 
did  not  now.  Leaving  it  in  the  marshes  in  the 
oare  of  a  boy,  he  walked  down  the  straggling 
path  among  the  rooks,  and  halted  at  the  door  of 
Mr.  Black's  cottage. 

"Come  in!"  called  a  sharp  voice  in  answer  to 
his  low  knock;  and  obeying  the  peremptory 
order,  he  did  walk  in,  and  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  old  Judith.  No  one  else  was  visible, 
and  the  old  lady  sat  upon  the  broad  hearth, 
propped  up  against  the  chimney-piece,  with  her 
knees  drawn  up  to  her  chin,  emoraoed  by  her 
clasped  fingers,  and  blowing  the  smoke  Trom  » 
small,  black  pipe  in  her  mouth,  up  the  chimney. 
"If  you  want  our  Barbara,  young  gentle- 
man,' said  Judith,  the  moment  her  sharp  eyes 
rested  on  him,  "she's  not  here;  she  went  out 
ten  minutes  ago,  and  I  rather  think,  if  you  go 
through  the  park  gates  and  walk  smart,  you'll 
catch  up  to  her." 
"  Thank  you.    What  a  jolly  old  soul  she  is !" 


said  Leicester,  apostroiihizlng  the  old  lady,  as 
he  turned  out  again  and  sprang  with  long  stridon 
over  the  roud,  through  the  open  gates,  and 
•long  the  sweeping  path  leading  to  {lie  ca«tle. 
As  he  went  un,  he  caught  sight  of  a  fluttering 
skirt  glancing  in  and  out  through  the  trees,  unil 
in  twu  minutes  he  was  beside  the  bill,  girlish 
figure,  walking  under  the  waving  branches  with 
a  fr«e,  quick,  elastic  step. 

Barbara,  handsomer  even  in  her  plain,  winter, 
crimson  merino,  trimmed  with  knots  of  black 
velvet  and  black  lace  ;  with  no  covering  on  the 
graceful  head,  but  the  shining  braids  of  dark 
nuir  twisted,  and  knotted,  and  looped,  as  if  there 
was  no  way  of  disposing  of  their  exuberance, 
and  with  two  or  ttireu  rosy  daisies  gleaming 
through  their  darkness,  looked  up  at  him  hall- 
surprised,  half  pleased. 

"  Why,  Leicester,  what  in  the  world  hot 
brought  vou  here  *" 

*■  My  uorse  part  of  the  way — I  walked  the 
rest." 

"  Don't  be  absurd  I  When  you  went  away 
half  an  hour  ago,  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you 
•gain  in  Lower  Cliffe  to-day." 

*'  Neither  did   I ;  but  it  seems  I  am  going 
away,  and  it  struck  me  I  should  like  to  say, 
Good-bye." 
Barbara  started  and  paled  slightly. 
"  Going  awny!     Where?" 
"  To  London." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?  And  how  long  are  you 
going  to  stay  ?" 

"  Only   a  week 
coming    back    then 
them.'^ 

His  grave  tone  startled  her,  and  she  looked 
at  him  searchingly. 

"  Is  anything  wrong?  What  are  you  looking 
so  solemn  about?" 

"  Barbara,  I  hove  two  or  three  words  to  say, 
Come  along  till  we  get  a  seat." 

They  walked  along,  side  by  side,  in  silence, 
and  turning  into  a  by  path  of  yew  and  elm,  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  Nun's  Grave,  lying  still 
and  gloomy  under  their  shade. 

"  Thin  is  just  the  place,"  said  Leicester ;  "  and 
here  is  a  seat  for  you,  Barbara,  on  this  fallen 
tree." 
But  Barbara  recoiled. 

"  Oh,  not  here  I  it  is  like  a  tomb — it  is  a  tomb, 
this  place  I" 

"  Nonsense!  What  is  the  matter  with  you? 
What  are  you  looking  so  pale  for  ? 

"  Nothing,"  said  Barbara,  recovering  herself 
with  a  slight  laugh  ;  "  only  I've  not  been  here 
for  six  years.  Miss  Shirley  was  with  me,  then, 
and  something  startled  us  both,  and  made  us 
afraid  of  the  place." 

"Ah!"    his    face  darkened  slightly    at  the 
name  ;  "  nothing  will  harm  you  while  I  am  near. 
Here  is  a  seat." 
She  seated  herself  on  the  old  trunk  of  a  tree, 


or  two.    The  Shlrlays  are 
en,  and  I'm  to  return  with 


TTIE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


01 


oM  lady,  »■ 
1  lung  itritlvn 
n   (Ttttea,  and 

0  uie  ca«tle. 
f  a  fl«tterin« 
the  trees,  nti<i 
!  till,  Kirli«h 
)ranob«a  with 

plain,  winter, 
notii  of  black 
rering  on  the 
raida  of  dark 
ed,  aa  if  theru 
p  exuberance, 
lies  gleaniini^ 
)  nt  him  bail- 
ie world  bat 
■I   walked  the 

lU  went  away 
set  to  see  you 

,  I   am  going 
id  like  to  Bay, 

itly. 

long  are  you 

e  Shlrlays  are 
10  return  with 

tod  she  looked 

are  you  looking 

e  words  to  say. 

aide,  in  ailence, 
w  and  elm,  they 
rave,  lying  atill 

LelceBter;  "ami 
a,  on  this  fallen 

lb — ^it  ie  a  tomb, 

atter  with  you? 

or? 

icovering  herself  1 

e  not  been  here 

}  with  me,  then, 

;h,  and  made  ub 

ali^htly    at  the  | 

1  while  I  am  near. 

i  trunk  of  a  tree, 


anTcr^d  with  moia,  and  be  threw  himacif  on  the 

f;rave,  with    bla  arm  on  the  black   oroaa,  and 
uokuil  up  in  the  beautiful  queationin^;  face. 

•«  Well,  Barbara,  do  you  know  what  I've  oome 
to  any  r" 

'•  You've  told  me  already.  Good-bye!"  said 
Barbara,  plucking  the  daiaiea,  with  a  ru^hlesa 
baud,  from  the  (jrave,  without  looking  up. 

'■  And  aomethmg  olae^ — that  I  love  you,  Bar- 
bara!" 

Hhe  looked  np  at  him  and  broke  into  a  low, 
mocking  laugh. 

"  Do  you  not  believe  me  ?"  abe  aaked,  quiet- 
ly- 

"  No !" 

"  Pleasant  that,  and  why  T" 

"  Becauae,  air  I"  ahe  aaid,  turning  upon  him 
BO  auddenly  and  fiercely  that  he  atartcii,  "  such 
worda  from  you  to  me,  apoken  in  earnest,  would 
be  an  insult." 

Barbara,  I  don't  know  what  you 


An  insult  1 
mean !" 

"You  don't. 
leas.    You  are 


It  is  plain  enough,  neverthe- 
the  son  of  a  baronet,  and  the 
beir  of  Cliffewood  ;  I  am  the  daughter  of  a 
fisherman,  promoted  to  that  high  estate  from 
being  n  rope-dancer !  Aak  yourself,  then,  what 
sucli  words  from  you  to  me  can  be  but  the  dead- 
liest of  insults !" 

"Barbara,  you  are  mad,  mad  with  pride. 
Stay  and  hear  me  out." 

"I  am  not  mad.  I  will  not  p'  y!"  slie  cried, 
passionately,  rising  up.  **I  di^i  think  you  were 
iny  friend,  Mr.  ClifiTe ;  I  did  think  you  respect- 
ed me  a  little.  I  never  thought  I  could  fall  so 
low.  In  your  eyes,  as  this !" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  caught  both  her 
Imnds  aa  she  was  turning,  with  a  passionate  cea- 
lure,  away,  and,  holding  her  firmly,  looked  in 
lier  eyes  with  a  smile. 

"  Barbara,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  Are 
you  crazy  ¥  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  and 
tome  day,  sooner  or  later,  I  will  make  you  Lady 
Cliflfe." 

"  You  will  make  me  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir. 
Release  me,  I  command  you,  for  I  will  not  stay 
here  to  be  mocked." 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  be  obstinate  now.  I  will 
not  let  you  go,  apd  I  am  not  mocUing,  but  in 
most  desperate  earnest.  Look  at  me,  Barbara, 
and  read  the  trntii  for  yourself!" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  tlie  linndsome,  smiling 
face  bending  over  her»  and  read  there  truth  and 
honor  in  glance  and  Ml^9- 

"  0  Leicester  1"  she  paauonately  cried.  "  Do 
not  deceive  me  now,  or  my  heart  will  break ! 
1  have  had  wild  dreams  of  ray  own,  but  never 
before  anything  so  wild  as  this.  How  can  you 
care  for  one  so  far  i>eneath  you  ;  and  oh !  what 
will  Sir  Roland  and  Lady  Agnes  say  if  it  be 
true?" 

"  What  they  pUaae  I  I  am  my  own  master, 
Barbara  I" 


"  But  Sir  Uoliind  may  disinherit  you." 
"  Let  him.     I  have  my  own  fortune,  or  ra- 
ther my  niofher'a  ;  and  the  day  I  waa  of  ago  I 
came  into  an  income  of  aome  five  Ihouannd  a 
year.     So  my  proud  little  Barbara,  if  my  wor- 
thy atepfather  aeea  fit  to  diainherit  me,  you  and 
I,  I  t!iink,  can  manage  to  exint  on  that! 
"  ()  Leicester,  can  you  mean  all  thia?" 
"Much  more  than  this,  Barbara.     And  now 
lot  me  hear  you  eay  you  love  me !" 

Khe  lifted   up  to   hia  a  face  tranafornied  and 
pale  with  intoriae  joy  ;  but,  ere  ahe  could  anawer, 
a  voice,  aolenin  and  aweet,  rose  from  the  grave 
under  tlieir  feet. 
"  Barbara,  beware  1" 

The  words  ahe  wouM  have  uttered  died  out 
on  Barbara's  lipa,  and  ahe  atarted  back  with  a 
auppreaaed  ahriek.  Loiceater,  too,  recoiled,  and 
looked  round  him  in  wonder. 

"  Wliat  waa  that  ?  Where  did  that  voice 
come  from,  Barbara  ?" 

"  From  the  grave,  I  think  I"  aaid  Barbara, 
turning  white. 

Leicest^'r  looked  at  her,  and  seeing  she  was 
perfectly  in  earnebt,  broke  out  into  a  tit  of  boy- 
ish laughter. 

"From  the  grave!  O  what  an  ideal  But, 
Barbara,  I  am  waiting  to  hear  whether  or  not  I 
am  to  be  an  accepted  lover." 

Again  the  radiant  look  came  over  Barbara's 
face,  again  she  turned  to  answer,  and  again  arose 
the  voice,  jo  solemn  iind  so  sad  : 
"Beware,  Biirbara!" 

"  Thia  is  some  devilish  tricK  t"  exclaimed 
Leicester,  paesionately  dashing  off  through  the 
trees.  "  Some  one  is  eavesdropping  ;  and  if  I 
catch  them  I'll  smash  every  bone  in  their 
body !" 

Barbara,  white  as  a  marble  statue,  and  nearly 
aa  cold,  stooti,  looking  down  in  horror  at  the 
nuns  grave,  until  Leicester  returned,  flushed 
and  heated,  after  his  impetuous  and  fruitless 
search. 

"  I  could  see  no  one,  but  I  am  convinced 
some  one  has  been  listening,  and  hid,  as  I  start- 
ed in  pursuit.     And  now,  Barbara,  in  spite  of 
men  or  demons,  tell  mo  that  you  love  me !" 
She  held  out  both  her  hands. 
"  O  Leicester,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart?" 
In  her  tone,  in  her  look,  there  was  something 
BO  strangely  solemn    that   he   caught  the  in- 
fection, and  raising  the  proffered  hands  lu  his 
lips,  he  said : 

"  My  own  Barbara !  When  I  prove  false  to 
you,  1  pray  God  that  I  may  die !" 

"  Amen  !"  said  Barbara,  with  terrible  earnest- 
ness, while  from  her  dark  eyes  there  eliot  for  a 
moment  a  glance  so  fieree,  that  he  liaif  dropped 
her  hands  m  his  surprise. 

"  But  I  shall  never  be  false !"  he  said,  re^ 
covering  himself,  and  believing  at  the  moment 
what  he  said  was  true ;  "  true  as  the  needle  tc 
the  North  Star  sliail  I  be  to  the  lady  I  love. 


53 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


>V 


■11 


See!  I  shall  be  romantic  for  onoe,  and  make 
this  old  elm  a  memorial,  that  will  oonvince  you 
it  is  uot  all  a  drenm  when  I  am  gone.  It  has 
stood  hundreds  of  years,  perhaps,  and  may 
stand  hundreds  more,  as  a  symbol  of  our  death- 
less faith  T 

Haif-laughingly,  half-earnestly,  he  took  from 
his  pocket  a  dainty  pen-knife,  and  vfith  one 
sharp,  blue  blade  began  carving  their  united 
initials  on  the  bark  of  the  hoary  old  elm,  wav- 
ing over  the  Nun's  Grave.  "L.  S.  C",  and 
underneath  "  B.  B.",  the  whole  encircled  by  a 
carved  wreath  ;  and  as  he  fir'  hed,a  great  drop 
of  rain  fell  on  his  glittering  blade.  He  looked 
up,  and  saw  that  the  whole  sky  had  blackened. 

"  There  is  going  to  be  a  storm !"  he  ex- 
claimed. "And  how  suddenly  it  has  arisen! 
Come,  Barbara,  we  will  scarcely  have  time  to 
reach  the  cottage  befoi*e  it  breaks." 

Barbara  stopped  for  a  momeuc  to  kiss  the 
wetted  initials ;  and  then  as  the  rain  drops  be- 
gan to  fall  thick  and  fast,  she  flbW  along  the 
avenue,  keeping  up  with  ^'6  long  man-strides, 
and  in  ten  minutes  reaches  the  cottage,  panting 
and  out  of  breath.  Old  Judith  stood  in  the 
doorway  looking  for  her,  so  there  was  no 
chance  of  sentimental  leave-taking ;  but  looks 
often  do  wonderfully  in  such  cases,  and  two 
pairs  of  eyes  embraced  at  the  cottage-door,  and 
said.  Good  bye. 

The  ligiitning  leaped  out  like  a  two-edged 
sword  as  Barbara  hastened  to  her  room  and  sat 
down  by  the  window.  This  window  command- 
ed a  view  of  the  sea  and  the  marshes — the  one 
black,  and  turbid,  and  moaning ;  the  other, 
blurred  and  sodden  with  the  rushing  rain.  Ami 
"  Oh,  he  will  be  out  in  all  this  storm !"  cried 
Barbara's  heart,  as  she  watched  the  rain  and 
the  liirhtnine,  and  listened  to  the  rumbling 
thunder,  until  the  dark  evening  wore  away,  and 
was  lost  in  the  darker  and  stormier  night.  Still 
it  rained,  still  it  lightened  and  thundered,  and 
the  sea  roared  over  the  rooks,  and  still  Barbara 
sat  at  the  window,  with  hor  long  hair  streaming 
around  her,  and  her  soul  full  of  a  joy  too  in- 
tense for  sleep. 

With  the  night  passed  the  storm,  and  up  rose 
the  sun,  ushering  in  a  new-born  day  to  the 
restless  world.  Barbara  was  up  as  soon  as  the 
Bun,  and  wbiking  under  the  dripping  bougiis, 
along  the  drenched  grass  to  the  place  of  tryst. 
But  the  lightning  had  been  before  her ;  for 
there,  across  the  Nan's  Grave,  lay  the  old  elm 
— the  emblem  of  their  endless  love — a  blacken- 
ed and  blasted  ruiu. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

TBB  SHAOOW  IN  BLACK. 

Old  Judith,  when  not  sitting  in  the  corner, 

amokine,  had  a  habit  of  standing  in  the  door- 

tway,  taking  an  observation  o.  all  that  passed  in 

'  Tower  Cliffe.     She  stood  there  now,  while  the 

sun  set  behind  the  golden  Sussex  hills,  with  a 


blftok-silk  handkerchief  knotted  ^under  her 
wrinkled  chin,  and  her  small,  keen  eyes  shaded 
by  her  band,  peering  over  the  sparkling  sea. 
On  the  sands,  in  the  crimson  glow  of  the  sun- 
set, the  fishermen  who  had  been  out  all  day 
were  drawing  up  their  boats  ou  the  shore,  and 
among  them  Mr.  Peter  Black,  with  a  tarpaulin 
hat  on  his  head,  and  noisy  fishy  oilcloth  jacket, 
and  trowsers  to  match,  was  coming  up  the  rocky 
road  to  supper. 

Old  Judith,  on  seeing  him,  turned  hastily  Into 
the  cottage,  grnmbling  as  she  went,  and  began 
arranging  the  table.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
house  but  herself,  and  the  room  did  not  look 
particularly  neat  or  inviting  :  for  Barbara,  lazy 
beauty,  liked  far  better  to  dream  over  novels 
and  wander  through  the  beautiful  grounds  of  the 
Castle  than  t  >  sweep  fluora  iind  wash  dishes,  and 
old  Judith  was  fonder  of  smoking  and  gossiping 
than  paying  any  attention  to  ^^^  Uttie  houst:- 
hold  matters  herself.  So,  when  Mr.  Black  en- 
tered his  roof-tree,  he  found  chairs  and  tables, 
anil  stools  and  pots,  and  kettles  and  pails,  all 
higgle-piggledy  over  the  floor,  as  if  these  house- 
hold Kods  had  been  dancing  a  fandango  ;  and  his 
appearance,  perfuming  the  air  with  a  most  an- 
cient and  fish-like  smeil,  did  uot  \t  all  imprute 
matters. 

Judith's  sotto  voce  grumblings  broke  into  i\a 
outcry  t)ie  moment  f  le  found  a  listener. 

"  It  s  just  gone  seven  by  the  sun-dial  at  the 
park-gates !"  she  cried,  shrilly,  "  and  that  girl 
has  been  gone  since  sunrise,  and  never  put  her 
nose  inside  the  door  since." 

"  What  girl— Barbara  ?"  inquire  1  Mr.  Black, 
^  nlling  a  clasped  cknife  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
;alling  to  his  supper  of  bread,  and  beef,  and 
beer. 

"  To  be  sure  it's  Barbara  —  a  Inzy,  undutiful, 
disrespectful  minx  as  ever  lived!  There  she 
goes,  gadding  about  h^om  one  week's  end  to 
t'other,  with  her  everlasting  novels  in  her  hand, 
or  strumming  on  that  trashy  old  guitar  Lawyer 
Sweet  was  fool  enough  to  give  her,  among  the 
rucks.  Her  stockings  may  be  full  of  holes,  her 
dress  may  be  tern  to  tatters,  the  house  may  be 
dirty  enoush  to  plant  cabbage  in,  and  I  may 
scorn  till  all  i«  blue,  and  she  don't  care  a  straw 
for  one  of  'em,  but  gives  snappish  answers,  and 
goes  on  twioe  as  bid  as  before." 

"Can't  you  talk  in  the  house,  mother?' 
gruffly  insinuated  Mr.  Black,  with  his  mouth 
full,  as  the  old  woman's  voice  rose  in  her  anger 
to  a  perfect  squeal.  "You  needn't  make  thu 
village  think  you're  being  murdered  about  it." 

"  Needn't  I?"  said  Judith,  her  voice  rising  an 
octave  higher.  "  I  might  be  murdered,  and  she 
go  to  old  Nick,  wheit  she  is  going  as  fast  as  slie 
can,  for  all  vou  care.  But  I  tell  you  what  it  ih, 
Peter  BlaoK,  if  you're  a  fool,  I'm  not ;  and  I 
won't  see  my  granddaughter  going  to  perdition 
witliout  raising  ray  voice  against  it,  and  so  I  tell 
you !" 


I 


away 
agam 
since 
dare 

!head< 
went 
and 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIPFE. 


i  ^under  her 
a  eyea  shaded 
sparkling  sea. 
"ow  of  ilie  suu- 
D  oat  all  day 
the  shore,  aud 
th  a  tarpauliu 
oilcloth  jacket, 
ig  up  thti  rocky 

ned  hastily  into 

eut,  aud  began 

no  one  iu  the 

did  not  look 

r  Barbara,  lazy 

urn  over  novels 

grounds  of  the 

rash  disbeb,  and 

and  gossiping 

ise  little  huusti- 

Mr.  Black  en- 

airs  and  tables, 

IS  and  paiis,  all 

)  if  these  house- 

idango ;  anil  his 

rith  a  most  an- 

;  \t  all  improve 

I  broke  into  (sn 
listener, 
sun-dial  at  the 
"  and  that  girl 
i  never  put  her 

lirel  Mr.  Black, 

his  Docket,  and 

,  ana  beef,  and 

liizy,  undutiful, 
ed!  There  she 
I  week's  end  to 
rels  in  her  hand, 
I  guitar  Lawyer 
her,  among  tbe 
jll  of  holes,  her 
>  house  may  be 
I  iu,  aud  I  may 
n't  care  a  straw 
iSh  answers,  aud 

>a8e,  mother?' 
with  his  mouth 
986  in  her  anger 
ledu't  make  the 
ered  about  it." 
r  voioe  rising  an 
urdered,  and  she 
iig  as  fast  as  she 
1  you  what  it  ib, 
I'm  not ;  and  I 
ling  to  perdition 
t  it,  ana  so  I  tell 


Peter  Blaok  laid  down  the  pewter-pot  he  was 
raising  to  his  lips,  and  turned  to  his  tender 
mother  with  an  inquiring  scowl : 

".What  do  you  meau«  you  old  screeoh-owl, 
flying  at  a  man  like  the  devil,  the  moment  he 
sets  his  foot  .inside  the  door?  Has  Barbara 
stuck  you,  or  anybody  else,  that  you're  raving 
mad  liKe  this  ?  Lord  knows,"  said  Mr.  Black, 
resuming  his  supper,  "  if  she  let  a  little  of  that 
spare  breath  out  of  you,  I  shouldn't  be  sorry." 

"  There'll  be  a  little  spare  breath  let  out  of 
somebody  afore  lon^  I"  screeched  the  old  lady, 
clawing  the  air  viciously  with  her  skinny  fin- 
gers, "  and  it  won't  be  me.  I  told  you  before, 
and  I  tell  you  again,  that  girl's  going  to  Old 
Nick  ns  fast  as  she  can,  and  perhaps  ;  when  you 
see  her  there,  and  it's  too  late,  you'll  begin  to 
think  about  it.  Her  pride,  and  her  bad  tem- 
per, and  tbe  airs  she  gave  herself  about  her  red 
cheeks,  and  her  dark  eyes,  and  her  long  hair, 
and  the  learning  she's  managed  to  get,  weren't 
bad  enough,  but  now  she's  fell  in  with  that  be- 
scented,  pale-faced,  high  and  miglity  popinjay 
from  foreign  parts,  and  they're  together  morn- 
ing, coon,  ana  night.  And  now,"  reiterated  olu 
Judith,  turning  still  more  fiercely  on  her  scowl- 
ing son,  "  what  good  is  likely  to  come  of  a  fish- 
erman's daughter  and  a  baronet's  son  and  heir 
being  together  for  everlastin'  ?  —  what  good  ?  I 
ask  you  yourself." 

Mr.  Peter  Blaok  laid  down  his  knife,  opened 
his  eyes,  and  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  Hey  ?"  he  inquired.  "  What  the  demon 
are  you  driving  at  now,  mother  ?" 

"Do  you  know  Sir  Roland  Cliflfe,  of  Cliflfe- 
wood  ?    Answer  me  that." 

"  To  be  sure  I  do." 

"And  do  you  know  that  fine  gentleman  with 
all  the  grand  airs,  Mr.  Leicester  Clifife,  his  step- 
eon?" 

"  What's  the  old  woman  raving  about  I"  <x- 
dahned  Mr.  Black,  with  an  impatient  appeal  to 
the  elements.  "  I've  seen  Mr.  Leicester  Cliffe, 
and  that's  all  I  know  about  him,  or  want  to. 
What  the  deuoe  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Oh !  nothing,  of  course.  Ever  since  he 
oame  here  last  May-day,  two  weeks  gone,  ho  and 
your  daughter  have  been  thicker  than  pick- 
pockets— ^that's  all!  Only  a  trifle,  you  know 
—not  worth  worretingabout !" 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mr.  Black,  fixing  his  eyes  on 
her  with  a  powerful  expression. 

And  the  old  woman  ran  on  with  fieret  volu- 
bility : 

"  No  longer  ago  than  last  night,  they  oame 
home  together  at  dark;  and  she  was  iff  and 
away  this  morning  at  day-dawn,  to  inaet  him 
agam,  of  course.  It's  been  the  same  thing  ever 
since  May-day  ;  and  she's  so  savage  nobody 
dare  say  a  word  to  her ;  and  you're  ts  thiok- 
; headed  as  a  mule,  and  couldn't  see  water  if  you 
went  to  the  sea-side  I  Everybody  els*  sees  it, 
and  she's  the  town's  talk  by  this  time.    Mr. 


88 

Sweet  sees  it;  and  by  the  same  token,  she 
treats  Mr.  Sweet  as  it  he  were  the  dirt  under 
her  feet.  You  know  very  well  he  wants  her  to 
marry  him— him  that  might  have  the  pick  of 
the  parish— and  she  holds  her  head  up  in  the 
air,  aud  sneers  at  him  for  his  pains,'  the  un- 
grateful hussy !" 

"  Look  here,  mother !"  said  Mr.  Black,  turn- 
ing round,  with  the  blue  blade  of  the  knife 
gleaming  in  his  hand,  and  a  horrible  light 
ahining  in  his  eyes,  "  I  know  what's  in  the  wind 
now,  and  all  that  you're  afraid  of,  so  just  listen  I 
I'm  pjfoud  of  my  girl ;  she's  handsome  and  high- 
stepping,  and  holds  her  head  above  everybody 
far  and  near,  and  I'm  proud  of  her  for  it ;  I'm 
fond  of  her,  too,  though  I  mayn't  show  it ;  and 
if  there's  anything  in  this  cursed  world  I  care 
for,  it's  her';  but  I  would  rather  see  her  dead 
and  buried — I  would  rather  see  her  the  misera- 
ble cast-oflf  wretch  you  are  thinking  of  than 
the  ricli  wife  of  that  black-hearted,  double-dyed 
hypocrite,  liar,  and  scoundrel.  Sweet  I    I  would, 

by !"  cried  Mr.  Black,  with  an  awful  oa/;h, 

plunging  his  knife  into  the  hump  of  cold  beef, 
lis  if  it  were  the  boiled  heart  of  the  snake,  Mr. 
Sweet 

With  the  last  imprpcn'inn  yet  on  his  lips,  a 
clear  girlish  voice  was  heard  without,  singing 
the  good  old  English  tune  of  "  Money  Muuk", 
and  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  Barbara, 
who  never  sang  of  late,  stood,  with  the  tune  on 
her  lips,  before  them.  The  long,  dark  hair,  un- 
bound and  disheveled  by  the  strong  sea-breeze, 
floated  in  most  becoming  disorder  over  her 
shoulders;  her  cheeks  were  like  scarlet  rose- 
berries  ;  her  dark  eyes  dancing,  her  red  lips 
breaking  into  smiles  like  a  happy  child ;  she 
fairly  filled  the  dreary  and  disorderly  room  with 
the  light  of  her  splendid  beauty.  Mother  and 
son  turned  toward  her — one  wrathful  and  men- 
acing, the  other  with  a  sort  of  savage  pride  and 
affection. 

"  So  you've  come  at  last !"  broke  out  old 
Judith  in  her  shrillest  falsetto,  "after  being 
gadding  about  since  early  morning,  you  sloven- 
ly-" 

''0  grandmother,  don't  scold!"  exclaimed 
Barbara,  who  was  a  great  deal  too  happy  nnd 
full  of  hope  to  bear  anger  and  scolding  just 
then.  "  I  will  clear  up  this  room  for  yon  in 
five  minutes  ;  and  I  don't  want  any  supper ;  I 
had  it  up  at  the  lodge." 

"Oh!  you  were  up  at  the  lodge,  and  with 
Mr.  Leicester  Cliffe,  of  course  ?" 

Barbara  flushed  to  the  temples,  more  at  her 
grandmother's  tone  than  words,  and  her  eyei 
flashed  ;  bat  once  she  restrained  herself. 

"  No  I  wasn't,  grandmother.  Mr.  Cliffe  left 
for  London  in  the  first  train  this  morning." 

Old  Judith  sneered. 

"  You  seem  to  know  all  abont  Mr  Cliffe 'a 
doings.    Of  oourse,  he  told  you  that,  and  bade 


54 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


cou  good-bye,  when  jou  were  caugbt  bo  nioely 
m  tbe  rain  last  night." 

Barbara  eompressed  her  lips  in  rising  wrath  ; 
but  she  went  steadily  on  arranging  stools  and 
obairs  in  silence.  Old  Judith,  however,  was 
not  to  be  mollified. 

"  Now  I  tell  you  what  it  is  my  lady,  you  had 
better  bring  these  fine  goings-ou  to  an  end,  and 
let  Mr.  Leicester  Ciiffe  go  gallanting  round  tbe 
country  with  grand  folks  like  bimseli,  while  you 
mend  your  father's  nets,  and  keep  bis  house 
clean.  There  is  Mr.  Sweet  been  here  looking 
for  you  hair  a  dozen  times  to-day,  and  a  pretty 
thing  for  him  to  hear  that  you  had  been  away 
since  daylight,  nobody  knew  where,  but  Mr. 
Leicester  Ciiffe,  perhaps,  and — " 

But  here  Barbara's  brief  thread  of  patience 
snapped  short,  and  with  an  expiesaioti  of  un- 
governable anger,  she  fluni'  the  chair  she  held 
m  her  hand  against  tbe  wall,  and  was  out  of  the 
house  in  an  mstant,  slamming  the  door  alter 
her  with  a  must  sonorous  bang.  Before  she  had 
icau,  aa  she  was  doing  in  her  angry  excitement, 
five  yards,  she  heard  a  heavy  step  behind  her, 
and  a  voice  close  at  her  ear  singing,  "  Oh  I 
there's  nothing  half  so  aweet  in  I'm  as  Love's 
young  dream !"  It  made  her  turn  and  behold' 
the  auusbiuy  figure  and  smiling  face  of  M.*. 
Sweet 

"  Home  at  last.  Miss  Barbara  I  I  have  been 
at  least  half  a  dozen  times  to-day  in  the  cottage, 
thinking  you  were  lost !" 

"  You  give  yourself  a  great  deal  of  unnoeoes- 
aary  trouble,  Mr.  Sweet" 

"  Nothing  done  for  you  cau  be  any  trouble. 
Miss  Barbara.  I  hope  you've  spent  a  pleasant 
day." 

"  Thank  you !" 

"  This  evening  wind  is  cool,  and  you  hatre  no 
shawl— shall  I  not  go  to  lue  house  and  bring 
you  one  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  don't  need  it." 

"  Miss  Barbara,  how  cold  you  are  !  I  wonder 
what  kind  of  a  shawl  would  warm  your  manner 
to  me !" 

Miss  Barbara,  leaning  against  a  tall  rock,  was 
iookiug  over  a  dai^ening  sea,  with  a  face  that 
might  have  been  out  out  of  the  solid  stoae, 
(or  all  tbe  emotion  it  expressed.  The  crimson 
And  purple  billows  of  sunset  had  faded  awav 
into  the  dim  gray  gloaming,  pierced  with  briglit 
white  stars,  and  the  waning  May  moon  was  lift- 
ing her  silver  crescent  over  the  raurm^iring 
waves.  The  fishing-boats  went  dancing  in  and 
out  in  the  shining  path  it  made  across  the  wa- 
ters ;  and  Barbara,  with  her  lone  hair  fluttering 
behind  her  in  the  wind,  watched  them  with  her 
cold,  beautiful  eyes,  and  heeded  tbe  man  beside 
her  no  more  than  the  rook  against  which  she 
leaned. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Leicester  Ciiffe  left  town  this  morning  for 


London,  did  he  not  J"  he  Asked,  at  leogtbf  Ab* 
ruptly. 

**  I  believe  so.' 

"  Is  that  the  cause  of  your  g]oom  and  silencfi 
to-night?" 

Barbara  turned  Impetuously  round,  with  a 
dangerous  fire  in  her  great  darK  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Sweet,  take  care  what  you  are  saying. 
You  will  oblige  me  exceedingly  by  going  about 
your  own  affairs,  whatever  tuey  may  oe,  and 
leaving  me  alone.  I  didn't  ask  your  company 
here,  and  I  don't  want  it!" 

Mr.  Sweet  smiled  good-naturedly. 

"  But  when  I  want  you  so  much,  Miss  Bar- 
Bara,  what  does  a  little  reluctance  on  your  part 
signify  I  Two  weeks  ago,  on  the  morning  ol 
May-aay — you  remember  May-day — I  did  myr 
self  the  honor  to  ask  you  for  this  fair  hand," 

"  And  received  No  for  an  answer.  I  hope 
you  reraemlier  that  also,  Mr.  Sweet." 

*'  Distinctly,  Miss  Barbara  ;  yet  in  two  weeks 
your  mind  may  have  change<^  ■  and  if  so,  I  hen 
to- night  renew  tbe  offer  " 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  but  I  have  only  the 
trouble  of  saying  No  over  again." 

"  Barbara,  stop  and  think.  I  love  you.  I 
am  a  rich  man— richer  than  most  people  imag- 
ine— and  I  think,  without  flattering  myself,  there 
are  few  girls  in  Cliftonlea  who  would  not  hesi- 
tate about  refusing  me.  Barbi^ra,  pause  before 
you  tiirow  away  so  good  an  offer." 

"  There  is  no  need.  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
feel  honored  by  your  preference  ;  but  I  don't 
in  the  least,  and  that  is  the  truth.  You  may 
make  any  of  the  Cliftonlea  young  ladies  happy 
by  so  brilliant  an  offer,  if  you  choose  ;  ana  I 
promise  to  go  to  her  wedding,  if  she  asks  me, 
without  feehng  the  least  jealousy  at  her  good 
fortune." 

"  You  are  sarcastic,  and  yet  I  think  there  are 
some  feelings— gratitude,  for  instance  —  that 
should  make  you  treat  me  and  my  offer  with 
at  least  decent  respect." 

"  Gratitude  1"  said  Barbara,  fixing  her  large 
dark  eyes  with  a  strong  glance  on  bis  face.  "  I 
don't  owe  you  anything,  Mr.  Sweet.  No,  don't 
interrupt  me,  if  you  please.  I  know  what  you 
would  say,  that  I  owe  all  the  home  I  have  known 
for  the  last  two  years  to  you,  and  that  you  res- 
cued me  from  a  life  of  hardship,  and  perhaps 
degradation.  Well,  I've  been  told  that  so  often 
by  you,  that  I  Ixave  ceased  to  think  it  a  favor  ; 
ana  ai  from  the  first  it  was  your  own  pleasura 
to  do  10,  and  without  my  will  or  request,  I  con- 
sider I'm  not  indebted  to  you  th»  value  of  a  far- 
thing. As  to  education  and  Jl  that,  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do,  that  Colonel  Ciiffe  sent  me  l» 
the  Town  Aoademv,  and  provided  me  with 
everything  while  there.  So,  Mr.  Sweet  don't 
Ulk  of  gratitude  any  more,  if  you  and  I  are  t« 
be  friends." 

While  she  spoke,  n  a  voice  clear  and  high, 
with  a  ringing  tone  of  oommand  and  a  warmina 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


66 


leogtbi  Ab* 


and  silence 
und,  with  a 

38. 

are  saying, 
going  about 
uay  De,  and 
ar  company 


,  Miss  Bar- 
>n  your  part 

morning  ot 
r — I  did  myr 
AT  hand," 
er.     I  hope 

in  tiro  weeks 
I  ifso,  IhePB 

Etve  only  the 

ove  you.  I 
people  imag- 
myself,  there 
lid  not  hesi- 
pause  befor« 

I  I  ought  to 
but  I  don't 
You  may 
ladies  happy 
lOose  ;  ana  I 
she  asks  me, 
at  her  good 

link  there  are 
stance  —  that 
ay  offer  with 

ng  her  large 
his  face.  "  I 
;.  No,  don't 
low  what  yon 
I  have  icnown 
that  you  res- 
and  perhaps 
I  that  so  often 
ak  it  a  favor ; 
own  pleasure 
equest,  I  con- 
iralue  of  a  far- 
lafc,  you  know 
e  sent  me  fn 
ded  me  with 
'.  Sweet  don't 
and  I  are  t» 

sar  and  high, 
nd  a  warming 


ifir^  ia  her  eye,  Mr.  Sweet  watched  her  with  the 
eame  quiet,  provoking  smile.  In  her  beauty 
and  in  her  pride  she  towered  above  him,  and 
flung  back  his  gifts,  like  stones,  in  his  face. 

"  And  when  is  it  to  be  7"  be  asked,  when  she 
ceased. 

«What?" 

'*  Your  marriage  with  the  heir  of  Sir  Roland 
diffe." 

■Even  in  the  moonlight,  he  saw  the  scarlet 
rush  that  dyed  face  and  neck,  and  the  short, 
half-stifled  breath. 

"  This  is  your  revenge  I"  she  said,  calmly, 
and  waving  him  away,  with  the  air  of  an  out- 
raged queen  ;  ''  but  go— go,  and  never  speak  to 
me  again  1" 

"  hot  even  when  you  are  Lady  Cliffo?" 

"Go!'*  she  said,  fiercely,  and  stamping  her 
foot.    •'  Go,  or  I  shall  make  you !" 

"  Ouly  one  moment.  When  there  are  two 
moons  in  yonder  sky ;  when  you  can  dip  up 
all  the  water  iu  the  sea  before  us  with  a  tea- 
spoon ;  when  '  Birnam  wood  will  come  to  Duu- 
sinaiie' ;  then — then  Leicester  Giiffe  will  mitrry 
^rbara  Black !  I  have  said  you  will  be  my 
wife  ;  and,  sooner  or  later,  that  time  will  come. 
Meantime,  proud  and  pretty  Barbara,  good- 
aiKbt!" 

Taking  off  his  beaver,  he  bowed  low,  and 
with  the  smile  still  on  his  lips,  walked  away  in 
the  moonlight; — not  only  smiling,  but  singing, 
and  Barbara  distinctly  heard  the  words : 

"  So  long  as  he's  constant, 
So  long  I'll  prove  true ; 
And  then  if  he  /shanges, 
Why,  so  can  I,  too." 

Barbara  sank  down  on  the  rock  and  covered 
her  fice  with  her  hands,  outraged,  ashamed,  in- 
dignant ;  and  yet,  in  the  midst  of  all,  with  a 
siiarp,  keen  pain  aching  in  her  heart  She  had 
been  so  happy  all  that  day— beloved,  loving, 
and  trusting— thinking  herself  standing  on  a 
rook,  and  finding  it  crumbling  to  dust  and  ashes. 
Oh,  why  had  they  not  let  her  alone !  Why  had 
they  not  let  her  hope  and  be  happy  t  If  Leices- 
ter proved  false,  she  felt  <>;>  though  she  should  die; 
and  balf.hating  herself  for  believing  for  a  mo- 
ment he  could  change,  she  sprang  np  and  dart- 
ed off  with  a  fleet,  light  step  toward  the  still 
open  park-gates — determined  to  visit  once  more 
the  trysting-place,  and  reassure  herself  tliere 
that  their  mutual  love  was  not  all  an  Illusion. 
She  never  thought  of  the  ghosdy  voice  in  her 
Bxoitement,  as  she  walked  up  the  moonlit  ave- 
tue  and  down  the  gloomy  lane,  toward  the  fal- 
len elm.  The  pale  moon's  rays  came  glancing 
faintly  through  the  slanting  leaves;  and  kneel- 
int;  down  beside  it,  she  saw  the  united  initials 
his  hand  had  carved,  and  the  girl  clasped  her 
hands  in  renewed  hope  and  joy. 

"  He  is  true !"  she  cried,  to  her  heart.  •'  He 
will  be  faithful  and  true  to  me  f<»rever!" 

"He  is  false  I"  said  a  low,  solemn  voice  from 


the  grave  on  whic  nhe  knelt ;  and,  starting  up 
with  a  suppressed  shriek,  Barbara  found  herself 
face  tp  face  wlCh  an  awful  vision. 

A.  nun,  supernaturally  tall,  all  in  black  and 
white,  stood  directly  opposite,  with  the  grave 
and  the  fallen  elm  between  them.  Without 
noise  or  movement,  it  was  before  hei  ;  how,  or 
from  whence  it  came,  impossible  to  tell ;  its 
tall  head  scemluff  in  the  shadowy  moonlight  to 
reach  nearly  to  tlie  tree-tops,  in  a  long  straight 
nun's  dress,  a  black,  nun's  vail,  a  white  band 
over  the  forehead,  and  another  over  the  throat 
and  breast.  The  moon's  rays  fell  distinctly  on 
the  face  of  deadly  whiteness,  and  with  two  stony 
eyes  shining  menacingly  under  bent  and  stern 
brows.  Barbara  stood  stupefied,  spell-bound, 
speechless.  The  figure  raised  its  shrouded  arm, 
aud  pointing  at  hur  with  one  flickering  finger, 
the  voice  again  rose  from  the  grave,  for  Um 
white  lips  of  the  B]>vutre  moved  not. 

"Thrice  have  you  heen  warned,  and  thrice 
have  you  spurned  the  warning !  Your  good 
angel  weeps,  and  the  doom  is  gathering  thick 
and  dark  overhead  !  Once  more,  Barbara,  be- 
ware !" 

Still  Barbara  stood  mute,  white  almost  as  the 
spectre,  with  sitpernatural  tt-rrur.  With  shroud- 
ed arm  and  flickering  finger  still  pointing  toward 
her,  the  ghostly  nun  ^azed  at  her  while  the  sad 
solemn  voice  rose  again  from  the  grave. 

"  You  love  and  think  you  are  beloved  in  re- 
turn, 0  rash,  infatuated  child !  Spurn  every 
thought  of  him  as  you  would  a  deadly  viper ; 
for  there  is  ruin,  there  is  misery,  there  is  death, 
in  his  love  I" 

*'  Be  it  so,  then !"  cried  Barbara,  wildly,  find- 
ing voice  in  a  sort  of  frantic  desperation ; 
*'  better  death  with  him  than  life  with  another  I" 
"  Barbara,  be  warned,  for  your  doom  is  at 
hand  I"  said  the  unseen  voice.  And  as  it  spoke, 
the  moon  was  lost  in  shadow,  a  dark  cloud 
shrouded  the  gloomy  grave  and  the  black  shape. 
There  was  a  quick  and  angry  rush  as  l."  vanish- 
ed among  the  trees,  and  the  whole  night  seemed 
to  blacken  as  it  passed. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  ROSE  OF  8C88EX. 

Wliile  Barbara  hoped  and  Barbar.i  feared, 
Leicester  Cliffe  was  whirling  away  as  fast  as  the 
steam-eagle  could  carry  him  toward  London  anu 
his  promised  bride.  And  the  same  white  cres- 
cent moon  that  saw  her  standing  at  the  trysting- 
place.  came  peering  through  the  closed  shutters 
of  a  West-End  hotel  and  saw  that  young  gen- 
tleman standing  before  a  swing-glass,  making  a 
most  elaborate  and  fanltleas  toilet  A  magnifi- 
cent watch,  set  with  brilliants,  that  lay  on  the 
dressing-table  before  nim,  w^  pointing  its  gold- 
en hands  to  the  hour  of  eleven,  when  there  came 
a  rap  at  the  door,  and,  opening  it  Mr.  Cliffe  was 
conrronted  by  a  tall  waiter,  witli  a  card  in  his 
band. 


66 


tJNMASlCSD;  OR, 


"Show  th«  gentleman  up,"  said  Leicester, 
glanoing  at  it,  and  going  on  witli  bis  toilet. 
And  two  minutes  after,  a  quiok,  impetuous, 
noisy  step  was  talcing  the  stairs  fire  at  a  time, 
and  Tom  Shirlej^,  flushed,  excited,  and  breath* 
less,  as  usual,  stood  before  him. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  goes  it?"  was  his  cry; 
seizing  his  cousin's  hand  with  a  grip  that  made 
him  wince.  "  I  should  have  been  hero  ages  ago, 
only  I  never  received  your  note  until  within  the 
last  ten  minutes !  I  was  nt  the  opera,  and  had 
just  come  to  my  lodgings  to  spread  myself  out 
in  goi^eous  array  for  the  ball,  when  I  found 
your  letter,  and  came  streamin;;  up  here  without 
a  second's  loss  of  time.  When  did  you  come  ? 
And  are  you  going  to  make  one  in  my  lady's 
crush  to-night?" 

"  Sit  down !"  was  Leicester's  nonchalant  re- 
ply to  this  breathless  outburst.  "  I  had  given 
you  up  in  despair,  and  was  about  starting  on  my 
own  responsibility.  What  brought  you  to  the 
opera,  to-night?' 

"  Oh,  this  is  the  last  night  of  the  brightest 
star  of  the  season  ;  and  besides,  we  are  time 
enough  for  the  ball.  How  long  before  you  have 
finished  making  yourpalf  resplendent?" 

"  I  have  finished  now.     Come !" 

Tom,  who  had  jrjst  seated  himself,  jumped  up, 
and  led  the  vray  down  stairs,  five  at  a  time,  as 
before,  and,  on  reaching  the  pavement,  drew 
out  a  cigar-case,  otfered  it  to  bis  companion,  lit 
one,  and  then,  taking  the  other's  arm,  marched 
him  off  briskly. 

"Wo  won't  call  a  cab — they're  nothing  but 
bores :  and  it's  not  ten  minutes'  walk  to  Shirley 
House.  How  did  you  leave  all  the  good  people 
in  Cliftonlea — Sir  Roland  among  the  rest?" 

"  Sir  Roland  has  had  the  gout ;  otherwise 
believe  he's  'lad  nothing  to  complain  of." 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  old  family  disorder  we 
must  all  come  to  In  the  fullness  of  time.  Was 
it  to-day  vou  arrived  ?" 

"  Yes.  Lad^  Agnes  was  good  enough  to  sc  d 
me  a  pressing  invito  to  this  grand  ball  of  hers, 
and  of  course,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  obe- 
dience." 

"  Ton  must  have  f&und  life  in  Cliftonlea  aw- 
fully slow  for  the  last  two  weeks,"  said  Tom, 
with  an  energetic  puff  at  his  cigar.  "What did 
you  do  with  yourself  all  the  time  ?" 

Leieester  laughed. 

"  So  many  things  thai;  it  would  pniszle  me  to 
recount  them.  Shooting,  fishing,  riding,  boat- 
ing—" 

"  With  a  little  courting  in  between  whiles !" 
interrupted  Tom,  with  gravity.  "  How  did  you 
leave  little  Barbara?" 

Leicester  Cliffs  took  his  cigar  ft-om  his  lips, 
and  knocked  the  white  end  off  carefully  with 
biU  fing'ar. 

**  Ashes  to  ashes,  eh  ?  I  don't  know  what  yon 
ui«an." 

••  Don't  you !    Oh,  you  are  an  artleaa  youth ! 


Perhaps  you  think  I  don't  know  bow  steep  you 
have  been  coming  it  with  our  pretty  May  Queen ; 
but  don't  trouble  yourself  to  invent  any  little 
fictions  about  it,  for  I  know  the  whole  4h«ng, 
from  beginning  to  end !" 

'•  What  do  you  know  ?" 

"  That  you  have  been  fooling  that  little  girl, 
and  I  won't  have  it  f  Oh,  vou  needn't  fire  up. 
Barbara  is  a  great  frien<l  of^mine,  and  you  will 
just  have  the  goodness  to  let  her  alone !" 

"  Pshaw !  what  nonsense  is  all  this  ?" 

*'  Is  it  nonsense  ?" 

"  Yes.    Who  has  been  talking  to  you  ?" 

"  One  who  is  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  with 
chaff.  Fred  Douglas,  of  the  Draeoons — he 
came  up  here  to  London  a  week  ago.' 

"  I'll  put  a  stray  hullet  through  Fred  Doug- 
las's head,  and  teach  him  to  hold  his  tongue,  auJ 
yours,  too,  my  good  cousin,  if  you  take  it  upon 
yourself  to  lecture  me.  How  are  all  the  Shi^ 
leys?" 

'•  Tolerable.  Lady  Agnes  is  up  to  her  eyes 
in  the  business  of  balls,  and  receptions,  and 
concerts,  and  matinees.  The  Colonel  has  been 
voted  unanimously  by  all  the  young  ladies  of 
Belgrave  Square  a  love  of  a  man,  and  Vic  is  all 
the  rage,  and  has  turned  more  heads  and  de- 
clined more  offers  this  winter  than  you  or  I 
could  count  in  a  week.  The  Rose  of  Sussex  is 
the  toast  of  the  town !" 

"  Indeed !  And  at  the  head  of  her  list  of 
her  killed  and  wounded  stands  the  name  of  Tom 
Shirley." 

Tom  winced  perceptibly. 

"  Precisely !  And  I'll  wager  my  diamond 
ring  that  yours  is  there,  too,  before  the  end  of  a 
week." 

"  Is  she  so  pretty,  then  ?" 

"  Pretty !  That's  a  nice  word  to  apply  to  the 
belle  of  London.  Here  we  are,  and  you  will 
soon  see  fbr  yourself." 

long  file  of  carriages  was  drawn  up  before 

e  door  of  Shirley  House,  and  a  crowd  of  serv- 
ants in  livery  were  flitting  busily  hither  auJ 
thither.  Some  of  the  guests  were  just  passing 
in  to  the  great  lighted  ball,  but  instead  of  fut- 
lowine  their  example,  Tom  drew  his  companion 
toward  a  deserted  side-door. 

*'  We  Won't  go  in  there  and  have  our  names 
bawled  by  the  flunkeys,  and  be  stared  at  as  we 
enter  by  a  hundred  pairs  of  eyes.  I  know  aH 
the  ins  and  outs  of  this  place,  and  there's  a  prt 
vate  way  that  will  bring  us  to  the  ball-room, 
where  you  can  have  a  good  look  at  the  Rose  of 
Sussex  before  yon  are  presented  to  her  in  form." 

He  rang,  as  he  spoke,  the  bell  of  the  side- 
door,  and  on  its  being  opened  by  a  liveried 
slave,  he  led  the  way  through  the  marble  ball 
up  a  wide  and  balustraded  staircase,  through  sev- 
eral empty  roome  and  pnssages,  all  sumptuously 
fitted  up,  and  echoing  with  the  sound'  of  distant 
music  and  merry-making,  and  finally  into  a 
great  eoniervatory,  with  the  moonlight  itream* 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  OASTLE  CLHTR 


ovr  Bteep  yon 
y  May  Queen ; 
ent  any  little 
I  whole  siting, 


bat  little  girl, 
ledn't  fire  up. 
and  you  will 
alone !" 
this?" 

to  you  •" 
>e  caught  with 
Dragoons — be 
go.'^ 

1  Fred  Doug- 
is  tongue,  auJ 
n  take  it  upon 
■e  all  the  Shi^ 

p  to  her  eyeg 
eceptions,  and 
ouel  has  been 
oung  ladies  of 
,  and  y  io  is  all 
heads  and  d»- 
tlian  you  or  I 
se  of  Sussex  is 

of  her  list  of 
e  name  of  Tom 


:  my  diamond 
)re  the  eud  of  a 

to  apply  to  the 
I,  and  you  will 

rawn  up  before 
I  crowd  of  serv. 
lily  hither  and 
ire  just  pasainz 
I  instead  of  fut- 
his  companion 

aye  our  nanies 
stared  at  as  we 
!B.  I  know  aU 
id  there's  a  pri- 

the  ball-room, 
:  at  the  Rose  of 
to  her  in  form." 
ill  of  the  side* 
.  by  a  liveried 
he  marble  hall 
se,  through  sev- 
kU  sumptuously 
Ducd'  of  distant 

finally  into  a 
onl^hfc  itream* 


m 


ing  througn  two  large  aronea  winaows,  wbioh 
opened  into  a  forsaken  music-room,  which  opened 
into  the  crowded  beil-roum.  There  was  no  door 
between  the  music  and  ball-rooms ,  but  instead, 
a  wide  arch  huug  with  curtultis  of  green  and 
silver,  and  under  their  friendly  shade  the  two 
new-comers  could  sit  anobserved,  and  look  on 
the  scene  before  them  to  iheir  heart's  content. 

The  great  ball-room  was  filled,  but  not  to  re- 
pletion. Lady  Agues  had  too  much  tasLe  and 
sense  to  sutfucate  her  guests  ;  and  every  moment 
the  distinguished  uuines  of  fresh  arrivals  came 
from  the  lips  of  the  tu!l  gentleman  in  livery  at 
the  door.  The  musicians,  sitting  perched  in  a 
gilded  gallery,  were  blowing  away  on  their  brass 
Instruments,  and  tilling  the  air  with  German 
dauce-musio ;  two  or  three  sets  of  quadrilles 
were  to  full  swing  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
while  the  wall-flowers  and  the  elderlies,  who  did 
not  fancy  cards,  were  enjoying  themselves  after 
their  own  fashion  at  the  lower  end.  The  glare 
of  the  myriad  cluster  of  gap  (6*^^  fell  on  the 
splendid  throng,  where  satiu><^;.ud  velrets  rus- 
tled, and  point  lace — the  tW4;nty  years  i'abor  of 
some  Brussels  lace-maRer — d?'i.ped  snow}'  elbows 
and  arms,  where  jewels  flashed  their  rainbow 
fires,  where  fans  waved  and  plumes  fluttered, 
and  perfumes  scented  the  nir ;  where  each  pretty 
and  liigh-titled  lai'j  acemed  to  vie  and  eclipse 
the  other  in  splendor.  And  near  the  centre  of 
the  room,  superb  in  family  diamonds  and  black 
velvet,  stood  Lady  Agues  by  the  side  of  a  starred 
and  ribboned  foreigner,  receiving  her  guests 
Hive  a  queen.  Lady  Agu«*8  always  wore  black — 
the  malicious  ones  said,  because  it  suited  her 
style,  and  made  her  look  youthful ;  but  whether 
from  that  cause  or  not,  she  certainly  did  look 
youthful,  and  handsome,  too,  albeit  her  mar- 
riageable granddaugliter  was  the  belle  of  the 
ball.  Paie  and  proud,  she  stood  toying  with  her 
fan,  her  rich,  black  dress  sweeping  the  chalked 
floor,  her  diamonds  blazing,  and  her  haughty 
head  erect,  while  the  distinguished  foreigner 
bent  over  her,  listening  with  profoundest  respect 
to  her  lightest  word.  Tom  touched  Leicester 
on  the  shoulder,  and  nodded  toward  her. 

"  That's  my  lady,  standing  there  with  the  air 
of  a  dowager-duchess,  and  talking  to  the  Due 

de as  if  she  thought  him  honored  by  the 

condescension." 

"  Lady  Agnea  is  handsome !"  said  Leicester, 
glancing  toward  her,  "and  looks  as  if  the  pride 
of  aril  the  Cliffes  were  concentrated  in  herself. 
I  remember  her  perfectly,  though  I  have  not 
seen  her  since  I  was  a  boy ;  but  where  is  your 
Rose  of  Sussex  ?" 

"  Behold  her !"  said  Tom,  tragically.  "  There 
she  comes,  ou  the  arm  of  Lonl  Henry  Lisle. 
Look !" 

Leicester  looked.    Movine  slowly  down  the 

A  room  at  the  ht^ad  of  the  dancers,  oamo   one 

whom   he  oould   almost  have   known  without 

being  told,  to  be  the  Rose  of  Sussex.    A  youth* 


ful  angel,  girlish  and  slender,  stately,  but  not 
tall,  with  a  profusion  of  golden  curls  failing 
over  the  shoulders  ti>  the  taper  waist,  beautiful 
eyes  of  bright,  violet  blue,  and  a  bright  radiant 
look  within  them,  like  that  of  a  happy  child. 
Uer  dress  was  of  pale-blu--  glao^  silk,  unuer 
flounces  of  Houiton  lace,  looped  up  with  bou- 
quet of  rosebuds  and  jasmine,  a  Inrae  cluster  of 
tlte  same  flowers  clasping  the  perfect  corsage, 
and  pale  pearls  on  the  exquisite  neck  nnd  arms. 
Her  dress  was  simple,  one  of  the  simplest,  per- 
haps, in  the  whole  room;  but  as  the  artist 
loolfed  at  her,  he  thought  of  the  young  May 
moon  in  its  silver  sheen,  of  a  clear,  white  star 
in  the  blue  summer  sky,  of  a  spotless  lily,  lift- 
ing its  lovely  head  in  a  silent  mountain-tarn. 
It  was  hardly  a  beaiHiful  mco— there  was  a  score 
handsomer  in  the  room,  but  there  certainly  was 
not  another  half  so  lovely.  A  vision  roae  be- 
tore  him  as  he  looked,  of  the  smiting  faces  of 
Madonnas  and  angels  as  he  had  seen  them  pi<y> 
tured  in  grand|old  cathedrals ;  and  before  the  sin- 
less soul  looking  out  of  those  clear  eyes,  be 
quailed  inwardly,  feeling  as  tuough  he  were  un- 
worthy to  touch  the  hem  of  her  ntbe. 

"  Well,"  sai>l  Tom,  looking  at  him  curiously, 
"  there  is  the  Rose  of  Sussex,  and  what  do  yoa 
think  of  her?" 

"  It  is  a  sylph ;  it  is  a  snow-spirit ;  i'.  is  a 
fairy,  by  moonlight !  That  is  the  ide*il  fuce  jjve 
been  trying  all  my  life  to  pairt,  anu  failed,  be- 
cause I  never  oould  find  a  model !" 

"  Bah !  I  would  rather  have  one  woman  of 
flesh  and  blood,  than  a  thokisand  on  cauvits ! 
Come,  we  have  stood  here  long  enough,  and  it 
is  time  we  were  paying  our  respects  to  Lady 
Agnes." 

"With  all  my  heart!"  siid  Leicester,  and 
making  their  way  through  the  thronu',  both 
stood  the  next  moment  before  the  stately  lady 
of  the  mansion. 

"  Aunt,"  said  Tom,  describiiw  a  graceful  circle 
with  his  hand,  as  he  bowed  before  thut  lady. 
"  I  come  late,  but  I  bring  my  apology.  Allow 
me  to  present  your  nephew,  Mr.  Leicester  Shir- 
ley Clitfe  !•• 

Liidy  Agnes  turned  with  a  bright  sudden 
smile,  and  held  out  her  jeweled  hand. 

"  Is  it  possible  I  My  dear  Leicester.  I  am 
enohaoted  to  see  yon.  How  well  you  are  look- 
ing I  and  how  tall  you  have  grown  !  Can  this 
really  be  the  little  boy,  with  the  long  eurls,  who 
used  to  run  wild,  long  ago,  at  Castle  Clitfe  ?'' 

Leicester  laughed. 

'*  The  same,  Madam,  though  the  long  curls 
are  gone,  and  the  little  boy  stands  before  yon 
six  feet  high." 

"  I  had  quite  despaired  of  your  coming.  And 
you  have  actually  been  in  Eugtau'l  a  fortnight, 
and  never  came  to  see  us.  I  am,  fositively, 
aifhamed  of  you.    Have  you  seeu  the  Colonel  i" 

"No;  we  have  just  arrived." 

"  How  was  it  yoa  were  aok  anaouuoed?" 


S8 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


;.:  I 


If;     U 


*'  Oh,  I  brought  him  round  by  a  Bide-door :  we 
were  late,  and  our  mudeaty  would  not  permit  ua 
to  become  the  ovuoaure  of  all  eyes.  There 
cornea  the  Culoneland  Vie,  now." 

Colonel  Shirley,  looking  quite  aa  young  and 
bandaome  aa  on  the  day  of  the  Cliftoulea  racea, 
BIX  yeara  before,  was  advancing  with  the  belle 
of  the  roon4,  and  my  lady  tapped  him,  lightly, 
with  her  fan  on  the  arm. 

"Cliffe!     Do  you  know  who  thia  ia  ?" 

"  Leiceater  Clife,  I'y  Jove  t"  cried  the  Colonel 
in  delighted  recognition.  "My  dear  boy,  ia  it 
possible  1  aee  you  again  after  all  tlitae  yeara, 
Hud  gr'^wn  out  of  all  knowledge.  Where  in  the 
world  have  you  dropped  from?" 

'■From  Gliftonlea,  the  laat  place.  I  have 
foiinJ  "I't,  after  all  my  wandering,  that  there  ia 
no  jiliice  like  home." 

*•  Right,  my  boy.  Vic,  thia  ia  your  oouain, 
Leiceater  Cliffe." 

The  long  laahea  drooped,  and  the  young  lady 
conrtesied  profoundly. 

"  You  remember  him,  Vic,  don't  you  ?"  aaid 
Tom ;  "  or  at  leaat  \on  remember  the  picture 
in  Cliffwood  you  uaed  to  go  into  auch  rapturea 
about  long  ago.  Did  you  think  I  waa  not  com- 
ing to-night,  Vic  ?" 

"I  never  thought  of  you  at  all!"  aaid  the 
^oung  lady,  with  the  prettieat  fluah  and  pout 
iniaginable. 

"I  know  better  than  that  There  goes  the 
.next  quadrille.    May  I  have  the  honor,  Vic  ?" 

*'  No.     I  am  engaged." 

"  The  next,  then  ?" 

•♦  Engaged !" 

"And  the  next?" 

Miaa  Vic  laughed  and  eonaulted  her  tablets. 

"  Very  well,  Sir,  that  ia  the  laat  before  aup- 
per,  and, perhap.,  you  may  have  the  honor  also 
of  taking  me  dowu." 

"  And  after  aupper,  cousin  mine  I"  aaid  Lei- 
oeater,  as  her  partner  for  the  set,  then  forming, 
came  to  lead  her  away.  "  May  I  not  hope  to 
be  equally  honored  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  first  after  supper,"  with  another 
alight  laugh  and  blush,  "  is  a  waltz.  Monsieur, 
and  I  never  waltz." 

"  For  the  first  quadrille,  th  n  ?'' 

The  young  lady  bowed  asaent  and  walked 
away,  just  aa  the  Colonel,  who  had  been  absent 
for  a  moment,  came  up  with  another  lady  on 
his  arm — a  plain,  dark  girl,  not  at  all  pretty, 
very  quietly  dressed,  and  without  jewela. 

"You  haven't  forgotten  this  young  lady,  I 
hope,  Leicester.  Don't  you  remember  your  for- 
mer playmate,  little  Maggie  Shirley?" 

"Certainly.  Why,  Maggie!"  he  cried,  his 
eyea  lighting  up  with  real  pleaaure,  and  catch- 
ing the  hand  ahe  held  out  in  both  hia. 

"  I  am  glad  to  aee  you  again,  Leiceater,"  said 
Maggie,  a  faint  color  coming  for  a  moment  into 
her  ^ark  cheek,  aud  then  &ding  away.     "  I 


thought  you  were  never  going  to  come  baok  te 
old  England  again." 

"  Ah !  I  waa  not  quite  so  far  gone  as  th.<U. 
Are  you  engaged  ?" 

"No." 

"  Come,  then.  I  have  a  thouaand  things  to 
aav  to  you,  and  we  can  talk  and  dance  to- 
gether." 

They  took  their  placea  in  one  of  the  quad- 
rilles, Leicester  talking  all  the  time. 

Margaret  Shirley  had  been  hia  playmate  in 
childhood,  hia  friend  and  favorite  alwaya,  and 
they  had  correaponded,  in  all  hia  wanderings 
over  the  world  ;  but  aomehow  in  thia,  their  first 
meeting,  they  did  not  get  on  ao  very  well  after 
all.  Margaret  waa,  naturally,  tcoiturn  aa  an  In- 
dian, and  the  habit  seemed  to  have  grown  with 
her  growth,  and  to  all  hia  queationa  ahe  would 
returu  none  but  the  briefest  and  quieteat  aiv- 
awera. 

"Oh,  confound  your  monoayllables !"  muttered 
Leiceater,  aa  he  led  bur  down  to  aupper,  and 
watched  Tom  and  Vic  chatting  and  laughing 
away  opposite  as  if  there  were  nobody  in  the 
world  but  themselves.  What  a  lovely  face  aba 
had  I  and  hon-  all  the  gentlemen  in  the  room 
aeemed  to  flock  round  het  ,like  flies  round  a 
drop  of  honey !  Leiceater  was  too  much  of  an 
artiat  not  to  have  a  perfect  piiasion  for  beauty 
in  whatever  ahape  it  came ;  and  though  h« 
could  aiimire  a  diamond  in  the  rough,  he  cer- 
tainly would  have  admired  the  aame  diamond 
far  more  in  aplendid  aetting.  He  might  love 
Barbara  with  his  heart ;  but  he  loved  Vic  al- 
ready with  his  eyes.  Barbara  was  the  dark 
daughter  of  the  earth :  this  fairy  sprite  seemed 
a  vision  from  a  better  land.  He  was  not  worthy 
of  her,  he  felt  that ;  but  yet  what  an  iclat  there 
would  be  in  hisc  arrying  oflf  this  reigniig  belle ; 
and  with  the  wily  tempter  whispering  a  thou- 
sand auch  thougbta  in  his  ear,  he  went  back  to 
the  ball  room,  and  claiming  her  prumiae,  led 
her  away  from  Tom,  to  improve  her  acquaint- 
ance before  the  quadrille  commenced.  The 
ball-room  was  by  thia  time  oppreaaively  hot,ao 
they  atrayed  into  the  music-room  ;  there  a  ladj 
sat  singing  with  a  group  around  her,  and  from 
thence  on  to  the  cool  conservatory,  where  the 
moonlight  shone  in  through  the  arched  windows ; 
the  words  of  the  song — Tennyaon'a  "  Maude"— 
came  floating  on  the  perfume  of  the  flowers. 

"  Come  Into  the  garden,  Maud, 

For  the  black-bat  night  has  flown. 
Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

I  am  here  at  the  gate  alone ; 
And  the  wood-bine  Bpiceg  are  wafted  abroad, 

And  the  musk  of  the  roses  blown. 
"  For  a  breeze  of  morning  moves. 

And  the  planet  of  Lore  ii  on  high. 
Beginning  to  faint  in  the  light  that  she  lovt*. 

On  a  bed  of  daffodil  sky  ; 
To  faint  in  the  light  of  the  snn  that  she  loves 

To  faint  in  his  light  and  di«. 

"  All  night  have  the  roses  heard 
The  flute,  violin,  baaooo  ; 


sad  aa 
window, 
eyea.  1 
ball,  of 
they  hn 
•ong. 

"  Lov 
up  at  laf 
"Yes 
and  feel 
"  Maude 
"We 
think,  M 
our  qua 
"How 
vet  we  I 
"Oh, 
no  more 
"  Yet 
Leiceste 
"  Is  it 
"Try 
"  If  il 
said  th' 
eertainii 
and  I  ki 

But 
lead  of 
old  Til 
nnda  . 
House, 
too  qui^ 
dim  aa\ 
called 
aeasoQ 

Backl 
feverisl 
ing  on 
him  of 
blue  el 
reigninl 
Euglanj 
it  ther^ 
Quder 


\^mi 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


60 


ae  baok  to 
ue  M  th.<U. 


d  tiiingf.  to 
dauof  to- 

)f  the  quad- 

)laymate  in 
Iways,  and 
wanderings 
8,  their  first 
well  after 
rn  as  an  lo- 
grovrn  witb 
s  6he  wuuLd 
quietest  ao- 

i !"  muttered 

supper,  and 

nd  laughing 

)ody  in  the 

ely  face  8h« 

in  the  room 

ies  round  a 

much  of  an 

for  beauty 

though  h« 

)ugh,  he  cer- 

me  diamond 

i  mi^ht  love 

oved  Vio  al- 

ras  the  dnrk 

prite  seemed 

18  not  worthy 

in  iclat  there 

ignlig  belle; 

ring  a  thon- 

rent  back  to 

promise,  led 

ler  acquaint- 

enoed.     The 

lively  hot,  so 

there  a ladj 

ler,  and  from 

y,  where  the 

led  windows ; 

J  "  Maude"— 

;e  flowers. 


abroad, 

he  loTtH, 
he  lores 


All  iiight  has  the  casement  Jeifamlne  itlrr'cl, 

To  tb«  diincerit  dancing  in  tune  { 
Till  a  ullence  fell  with  the  waking  bird, 

And  a  hush  with  the  setting  moon. 

*The  slender  acacia  would  not  shake 

One  lung  milk-blnom  on  the  tree ; 
The  w  lite-lake  blossom  fell  into  the  lake. 

As  (he  pimpernel  dozed  on  the  lea  ; 
But  the  rose  was  awake  all  night  for  yoar  sake, 

Knowing  your  promise  to  ne ; 
The  lilies  and  roses  were'all  awake, 

They  sighed  for  the  dawn  and  thee. 

"  Queen  rose  of  the  rose-bud  garden  of  glrl^ 

Come  hither,  the  duncera  are  gone, 
In  gloss  of  satin  and  glimmer  of  pearls, 

Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one ; 
Shine  out,  little  head  running  over  with  ourls, 

To  the  flowers  and  be  t^eir  sun." 

Side  by  side  they  btood  together  in  the  moon- 
light, she  in  a  cloud  of  white  lace  and  lustrous 
pearls,  tlie  little  head  "  running  over  with 
^arls",  and  the  fair  face  looking  dreamy  and 
sad  as  slie  listened — be  leaning  against  the 
window,  and  watching  her  with  his  heart  in  bia 
eyes.  They  had  been  talking  at  first  of  the 
ball,  of  Castle  Cliffe,  of  his  wanderings ;  but 
they  had  fallen  into  silence  to  listen  to  the 
song. 

<'  Lovely  thing,  is  it  not?"  she  asked, looking 
np  at  last. 

"  Yes !"  said  Leicester,  tldnking  of  herself, 
and  feeling  at  that  moment  there  was  no  other 
"  Maude"  for  him  in  the  world  but  her. 

"  Wo  had  better  no  back  to  the  ball-room,  I 
think,  Mr.  Glififc.  If  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken 
our  quadrille  is  commencing." 

"  How  formally  jou  call  me  Mr.  Oliffe ;  and 
yet  we  are  cousins." 

"  Ob,  that  is  only  a  polite  fiction !  You  are 
no  more  my  cousin  than  you  are  my  brother !" 

"  Yet,  I  think,  you  might  drop  the  Mister. 
Leicester  is  an  easy  name  to  say. 

"Is  it?" 

"  Try  it,  and  see  !" 

"  If  it  ever  comes  natural,  perhaps  I  may," 
said  th<^  yoDug  lady,  with  composure ;  "  but 
certainly  not  now.  There  I  it  is  the  quadrille, 
and  I  know  we  will  be  'ate  I*' 

But  they  were  not  late,  and  came  in  time  to 
lead  off  the  set  "^ith  spirit.  Somewhere,  ugly 
old  Time  was  mowing  down  his  tens  of  thou- 
sands;  but  it  certainly  was  not  in  Shirley 
House,  where  this  gaa-lit  moments  flew  by  all 
too  quick] J,  tinged  with  c  ruhur  de  rose,  until  tiie 
dim  dawn  began  to  steal  in  ;  aiid  carriages  were 
called  for  ;  and  thu  most  succossful  ball  of  the 
season  came  to  au  end. 

Baok  in  his  own  room,  Leicester  Cliffe  was 
ieverishly  pacing  up  and  down,  with  a  war  go- 
ing on  in  his  own  heart.  A  vision  rose  before 
him  of  pearls  and  floating  laoe,  golden  curls. 
Hue  eyes,  and  the  face  of  a  smiling  nngel — a 
reigninjT  belle,  nod  one  of  t,he  richest  heiresses  in 
England — all  tc  be  his  for  the  asking  ;  but  with 
it  there  came  another  vision — the  Nun's  Grave 
under  the  gloomy  yews ;  the  dark,  wild  gipsy 


standing  beside  him,  while  be  cirved  her  name 
and  his  together  on  tlie  old  tvoe ;  his  own  words  : 
*'  When  I  prove  false  to  yon,  I  pray  God  thak 
I  may  die";  and  the  dreadful  fire  that  had 
filled  her  eyes ;  and  the  dreadful  "Amen''  abe 
had  biased  through  her  closed  teeth,  The  skein 
bad  run  fair  hitherto,  but  the  tangle  was 
coming  now ;  and,  quite  unable  to  see  bow  he 
was  to  unwind  it,  he  lay  down  on  his  bed  at 
last.  But  Leicester  Cliffe  did  not  sleep  mach 
that  morning. 

CHAPTER  XVir. 

OWW  WITH  THE  OLD  LoVH. 

The  daintiest  of  little  Swiss  clocks  on  a  gilded 
mantel-piece  was  beginning  to  play  the  "  Sophia 
Walts"  preparatory' to  striking  eleven,  and  Lady 
Agnes  Shirley  looked  up  at  it  with  a  little  im- 
patient frown,.  The  Swiss  clock  and  the  cilded 
mantel-piece  were  in  the  breakfast-parlor  of 
Shirley  House  ;  and  in  a  great  carved  arm-chsir, 
cushioned  in  violet  velvet,  before  a  sparkling 
Coal  fire,  sat  Lady  Agnes.  She  had  just  aK.'4«ii ; 
and  in  her  pretty  morning-dress  of  a  warm  rose- 
tint,  lined  and  edged  with  snow-white  fur ;  the 
blonde  hair,  which  Time  was  too  gallant  to 
touch  with  silver,  and  only  ventured  to  thin  out 
a  little  at  the  parting,  brushed  in  the  old  fashion 
off  the  smooth,  low  forehead,  and  hidden  under 
a  gauzy  affair  of  black  lice  and  ribbons,  which 
she  wab  pleased  to  call  a  morning-cap ;  a  brooch 
of  cluster  diamonds  sparkling  on  her  neck,  and 
her  daintily-slippered  feet  resting  on  a  violet 
velvet  ottoman,  she  looked  like  an  exquisite 
picture  in  a  carved  oak  frame.  At  her  elbow 
was  a  little  round  stand,  coverod  with  the 
whitest  of  damask,  ^rliereon  stood  a  poroelaine 
cup  half  filled  with  chocolate ;  a  tiny  glass,  not 
much  larger  than  a  thimble,  filled  with  Oogniac ; 
a  little  bird  swimmini^  in  rich  sauce,  and  a  plate 
of  oyster-patd.  But  the  lady  did  not  eat,  she 
only  stirred  the  cold  chocolate  with  the  golden 
spoon,  looked  dreamily  into  the  fire,  and  waited. 
Last  night,  before  the  ball  broke  up,  8ht>  liad  di- 
rected a  certain  gentleman  to  call  next  morning 
and  discuss  with  her  a  certain  important  matter  ; 
but  it  was  eleven,  and  he  had  not  called  yet ; 
and  BO  she  sat  with  her  untasted  breahfast  be- 
fore her,  and  waited  and  thought.  She  thought 
of  another  morning,  more  than  eighteen  years 
ago,  when  she  J  ad  sat  and  waited  for  another 
young  gentleman,  to  talk  to  him  on  the  very 
same  subject — matrimony.  Eighteen  years  ago 
she  had  found  the  young'  gentleman  obstinate 
and  refractory,  and  herself  outwitted  ;  but  then 
all  young  gentlemen,  were  not  &s  self-willed  as 
he,  and  she  had  great  hopes  of  the  particular 
one  waited  for  this  morning.  So,  tapping  her 
:<lipperod  foot  on  the  ottoiuan,  and  beating  the 
devil's  tattoo  with  her  spoon,  she  alternately 
watched  the  Swiss  clock  and  the  red  cinders 
falling  from  the  grate,  until  the  door  was  flung 


40 


UNMASKED;  OK, 


open  by  a  foottnnn,  and  Mr.  CliiFe  announoed  in 
a  Btenturisn  Toioe.  An<i  hat  in  band,  Leioester 
Cliffe  stood  bcfuro  bcr  the  next  moment. 

"  Punctual  t"  said  Lndy  Agnes,  glauoing  at 
the  tiinu-piioe,  and  languidly  holding  out  her 
hand.  *'  I  told  you  to  oume  early,  and  it  is 
hAlf-rmst  olcYcn  c'dlock !" 

"Ten  thousand  pardons;  but  it  is  all  the 
fault  of  the  people  of  the  hotel,  I  assure  you  ; 
I  ffave  orders  to  be  called  at  ten  precisely  ;  but 
it  was  nearer  eleven  vhen  the  waiter  came.  Am 
I  forgiven?" 

"You've  kept  me  waiting  half  an  hour,  and 
I  detest  people  who  n>ake  me  wait ;  but  I  think 
I  «aii  forgive  you.  Take  a  seat  near  the  fire — 
the  morning  is  chilly." 

"And  how  are  the  young  ladies?''  inquired 
Leioestor,  as  ho  obevea ;  "  not  over  fatigued,  I 
trust,  after  tlie  ball." 

"  I  cannot  answer  for  Margaret,  who  is  prob- 
ably asleep  yet ;  bat  Victoria  came  to  my  room 
AiUy  two  hours  ago,  drossed  for  a  oanter  in  the 
Park.  Quito  true,  I  assure,  my  dear  Leicester 
-«it  is  the  most  energetic  child  in  the  world! 
Will  Tou  have  a  cup  of  coffee  ?" 

"  Not  any,  thank  you.  I  have  breakfasted. 
Miaa  Shirley  is  certainly  a  modern  miracle  to 
get  up  so  early  ;  but,  perhaps,  to*day  is  an  ex- 
oeption." 

"  Not  at  all !  Victoria  is  an  early  bird,  and 
constantly  rises  at  some  dismal  hour  in  the 
early  morning,  and  attends  church  —  convent 
habits,  and  so  on  I'  said  Lady  Agnes,  with  a 
shrug  nnd  a  short  laugh.  "  Shall  I  ever  forget 
th«  first  morning  after  her  arrival  at  Castle 
Cli£fe,  when,  on  going  to  her  room  at  sunrise,  I 
found  bur  making  her  bed,  like  any  chamber- 
maid t  I  believe  you  never  saw  her  before  last 
night." 

"  I  never  had  that  pleasure  ;  but  I  knew  her 
immediately.  There  is  a  picture  at  tho  Castle 
of  a  small  ohild  with  blue  eyes  and  long  curls, 
and  It  is  like  her,  only  Miss  Shirley  is  far 
lovelier." 

Lady  Agnes  lifted  her  keen  eyes  from  the 
fire  with  a  quick,  eager  sparkle. 

"Ah,  you  tliink  her  lovely,  then  I" 

"  Lady  Agnca,  who  could  look  at  her,  and 
think  otherwise  f" 

"You  arc  right!  Victoria  is  beautiful,  as 
half  the  young  men  in  our  cet  know  to  their 
oost.  Ah,  she  is  a  finished  coquette  is  my 
handsome  granddaughter  I  Whom  do  you  thiuK 
proposed  for  her  last  night?" 

"1  cannot  iiuagine." 

"  The  youug  Marquis  de  St.  Hilary,  whom 
the  knew  long  ago  in  France.  He  spoke  to  me 
in  the  handsomest  manner  first,  and  having  ob- 
tained my  consent— for  I  knew  perfectly  well 
what  the  answer  would  be — proposed." 

"And  the  answer  was —  ?"  said  Leicester,  with 
A  aliKbt  and  oousoions  tuiile. 

"  UTo,  of  course !    Had  I  dreafeaed  for  a  uq* 


ment  it  «ould  have  be«n  aoything  else,  rest  afr 
sured  the  Marquis  de  St.  Hilary  would  never 
have  offered  his  hand  rnd  name  to  my  grand* 
daughter.  There  is  but  one  name  I  shall  ever 
be  glad  to  see  Victoria  Shirley  bear,  and  tlmt  is 
-Cliffe  I" 

"  Now  it  is  coming !"  thought  Leicester,  sup- 
pressing a  smile  jirith  an  effort,  and  locking 
with  gravity  at  the  fire. 

Lady  Agnes,  leaning  back  in  the  violet  velvet 
arm-chair,  eyed  her  young  kinsman  askance. 
Hers  was  roally  an  eagle  glance — sharp,  side* 
long,  piercing  ;  and  now  she  was  reconnoitcring 
the  enemy  like  a  skillful  general,  before  begin- 
ning the  attack.  Dnt  the  handsome  face  baf- 
fled her.  It  was  as  emotionless  as  a  waxed 
mask,  and  she  hent  over  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  with  a  slight  laugh. 

"  What  a  boy  it  is  I  sitting  there  as  unreada- 
ble as  on  oraole,  without  a  sign ;  and  yet  ha 
knows  all  I" 

"All  what,  Lady  Agnes?" 

"  Nonsense  1  I  am  not  going  to  have  any 
fencing  here ;  so  sheathe  your  sword,  and  let  us 
have  the  whole  thing,  and  in  plain  English.  Of 
course,  Sir  Roland  has  told  you  ail  about  it." 

"  Madam,"  stammered  Leicester,  really  ut  a 
loss. 

"  There,  don't  blush  I  Victoria  herself  could 
not  have  done  it  more  palpably.  Of  course,  I 
say  Sir  Roland  has  told  you  the  whole  matter; 
the  object  of  my  invitation,  in  short.  Yes, 
your  face  tells  it ;  I  see  he  has  I" 

"  Lady  Agnes,  I  have  .cad  your  letter." 

"  So  much  the  better !  I  need  not  waste  time 
making  a  revelation ;  and  now,  what  do  vou 
think  of  It?" 

"  Your  ladyship,  I  have  not  had  time  to  think 
of  it  all.  Consider,  I  have  seen  Miss  Shirley 
last  night  for  the  first  time !" 

"  What  of  it!  On  the  continent,  the  bride- 
groom only  sees  his  bride  when  they  stand  be- 
fore the  altar." 

"  But  this  is  England,  Lady  Agnes,  where  we 
have  quite  another  way  of  doing  those  things ! 
I  am  a  true-born  Briton,  and  Miss  Shirley  is—" 

"  French  to  the  core  of  her  heart,  and  with  on 
implicit  faith  in  the  continental  way  of  doing 
those  things,  as  you  call  it.  You  saw  her  last 
night  for  the  first  time.  True.  But  the  sight 
was  satisfactory,  I  trust." 

"  Eminently  so,  yet — " 

"  Yet  what  ?" 

"  Lady  Agnes,"  said  Leicester,  laughing,  yet 
coloring  a  little  under  the  cold,  keen  gaze  of 
the  woman  of  the  world,  "  there  is  an  old  fash- 
ioned prejudice  in  favor  of  love  before  marrioge, 
and  you  will  allow  we  have  not  had  much  time 
to  &11  in  love  with  each  other." 

"Bah I"  said  Lady  Agnes,  with  supreme 
scorn.  "  Is  that  all  ?  How  many  times  in  your 
life,  my  dear  Leicester,  have  you  been  in  love 
before  this  ?'' 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLITFE. 


Leiceitor  langbod,  and  ■book  baok  his  fkfr, 
•last^riug  bair. 

"It  is  past  counting,  your  ladysbip  !" 

"  And  Jiovr  niauy  nr  thrwo  ludy-lovct  baT« 
you  married  ?" 

'*Rutber  a  superflnou*  qaeation,  I  should 
Uiink,  La'^y  Aauea." 

"  Auswer  it  V' 

*  Not  one,  of  course  I" 

Again  Lady  Agnes  shrugged  bor  shoulders 
with  iier  peculiar  ecornful  laugh. 

"  •  Wo  have  met,  we  have  loved,  and  we  have 
parted'  I  That  is  the  burden  of  one  of  Victoria's 
Bougs  ;  and,  of  course,  your  henrt  was  broken 
long  ago,  after  all  tbose  sharp  blows  upon  it  I" 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  it  is  I  It  feels  all  right 
— beats  much  the  same  as  usual  I  I  never 
heard  of  a  man  with  a  broken  heart  in  all  my 
life  1" 

"  Neither  have  I ;  and  so,  Mr.  ClifTe,  as  you've 
had  love  enough  without  marriage,  suppose 
you  try  marriage  witliout  love  ;  that  sentiment 
will  come  afterward,  believe  me!" 

"  You  know  best,  of  course  I  I  bow  to  your 
superior  judgment.  Lady  Agnes  I"  said  Leices- 
ter, bending  to  hide  an  irrepressible  smile. 

"  Love  is  all  very  fine,  and  exccssi*  .iy  useful 
in  its  place,"  said  Lady  Agnes,  leaning  back  with 
the  air  of  one  entering  upon  an  abstruse  subject ; 
**  the  stock  and  trade  with  which  poets  and  au- 
thors set  up  business,  and  without  which,  I  don't 
know  how  the  poor  wretches  would  ever  get 
along.  It  is  also  well  enough  in  real  life  ;  for 
you  must  Vnow  I  believe  in  the  existence  of 
such  a  feeling  when  in  its  proper  place,  and 
kept  in  due  bonds,  but  not  at  all  indi'^pensable 
to  the  happiness  of  married  life.  For  instance, 
I  made  a  mariage  de  convenance ;  Dr.  Shirley 
was  twenty  years  my  senior,  and  I  had  not  seen 
him  half  a  duzen  times  when  I  accepted  him, 
and,  of  course,  did  not  care  a  straw  for  him  in 
that  way,  yet  I  am  sure  we  got  along  extremely 
well  together,  and  never  had  a  quarrel  in  our 
lives.  Then  there  was  Sir  Roland  and  your 
mother.  You  know  very  well  they  married,  not 
fur  love,  but  because  it  was  an  eminently  prop- 
er match,  and  she  wanted  a  guardian  for  her  son 
— yourselfi  yet  how  contentedly  they  lived  to- 
gether always.  O  my  dear  Leicester,  if  that  is 
aU  your  objection,  pray  don't  mention  it  again, 
lor  it  is  utterly  absurd  I" 

"  So  I  perceive,"  said  Leicester,  dryly.  "  But 
is  your  ladyship  quite  certain  Miss  Shirley  will 
agree  with  you  in  all  these  views.  Snpp<He  she 
has  what  is  called  a  prior  engagement .  ^ 

Lady  Agnes  drew  herself  up,  and  fixed  her 
oold  blue  eyes  proudly  on  his  face. 

"The  idea  is  simply  absurd  I  Miss  Shirley 
has  nothing  of  the  sort  f  My  granddaughter,  my 
proud,  pure-minded  Victoria,  stoop  to  sueh  a 
tiling  as  a  clandestine  atttohment  for  any  man  I 
Sir,  if  any  one  else  hod  uttered  such  an  idea,  I 
ihoold  have  eonsidcrod  it  an  insaltl" 


•1 

"  Pardon  t  I  had  no  intention  to  offend." 
"  Perhaps" — still  with  hauteur  —  ••  perhaps 
yon  judge  her  by  yourself;  perhaps  you  have 
some  prior  attaohmi'nt  which  causes  all  those 
scruples.  If  so,  speak  the  word,  and  yuit  have 
heard  the  last  you  will  ever  hear  fruni  me  or 
any  one  else  on  this  subject  I  The  heiress  ni 
Castle  ClifTe,"  said  Lady  Agnes,  a  flush  orimsnn- 
ini;  her  delicate  face,  "  is  not  to  be  forced  on 
any  man  1" 

O  Barbara  I  his  heart  went  back  with  abound 
to  the  cottage  by  the  sea,  but  never  before  hod 
you  power  over  him  been  so  feeble.  What  would 
this  satirical  kinswoman — this  grand  and  stornful 
lady,  soy— if  he  stood  before  her  like  a  great 
schoolboy,. and  uhishingly  blurted  out  his  grand 
passion  for  the  fisherman's  daughter.  His 
check  reddened  at  the  very  thought ;  au<l  feeling 
that  the  eagle  eyes  were  pieroing  him  like  nee- 
dles, he  looked  up  and  confronted  them  with  a 
gaze  quite  as  unflinching  and  almost  as  haugh- 
ty. 

"  You  are  somewhat  inconsistent.  Lady  Ag- 
nes. You  gave  me  carie  blanche  a  moment  ago 
to  love  as  many  as  I  [iloased  !" 

"  I  gave  you  absolution  for  the  post,  ;)ot  in- 
dulgence for  the  future !  With  Leiccsfor  Cliflb 
and  his  amours  I  have  nothing  to  do,  ^ut  ths 
husband  of  my  granddaui^hter  must  be  true  to 
her  as  the  needle  to  the  North  Star  I" 

He  bowed  in  haughty  silence.  Lady  Agnes 
looked  at  him  searohingiy,  and  calmed  down. 

"If  we  commence  at  daggers  drawn,"  she 
said,  still  laughing  her  satirical  luugh ;  "  we 
will  certainly  end  in  war  to  the  knife!  Listen 
to  me,  Leicester,  my  nephew,  the  last  of  the 
Cliffes,  and  learn  why  it  is  that  tliis  marriage  is 
so  dear  to  my  heart — why  it  has  been  my  dream 
by  day  and  Ly  night  since  I  first  saw  Victoria. 
Some  of  the  noblest  names  in  the  i>cerago  have 
been  laid  this  winter  at  my  granddaughter's 
feet,  and  by  me  rejected — she,  the  most  dutifal 
child  in  the  world,  never  objecting.  You  know 
what  an  heiress  she  is — wurth  at  least  twenty 
thousand  a  year ;  and  do  you  think  I  would 
willingly  let  the  milho^s  of  our  farnilv  go  to 
swell  the  rent-roll  of  some  impoverishcti  foreign 
duke,  or  spendthrift  English  earl?  You  are 
the  last,  except  my  son  and  Sir  Roland,  bearing 
the  name  of  GlifFe  ;  they  will  never  marry,  ana 
I  don't  want  a  name  that  existed  before  the  Con- 
queror to  pass  from  our  branch  of  the  family. 
By  your  marriage  with  ray  granddaughter,  the 
united  fortunes  of  the  Cliffes  anl  Shirlcys  will 
mingle,  and  the  name  will  descend,  noble  and 
honored,  to  posterity,  as  it  has  been  honored 
in  the  past.  It  is  for  ^'ou  to  decide  whether  these 
hopes  are  to  be  realized  or  disappointed.  VIo* 
torm  has  no  will  but  that  of  her  natural  guar- 
dians, and  your  decision  must  be  quick  ;  for  I'm 
determined  she  shall  leave  town  engaged." 

You  shall  have  ray  answer  to-night  I"  saUj 

t 


"S. 


Leicester,  rising  and  taking  bis  hat. 


62 


UNMASKED;  0R» 


"That  is  well!    We  go  to  tLo  theotro  to-' 
Dight,  and  y<»u  mny  coinc  to  our  box." 

,  "  I  sbuU  not  fail  to  do  80 1     Until  then,  adicn  1 
and  au  revoir  /" 

Lady  Agnes  held  out  her  hand  with  a  gra> 
«ious  smile,  but  he  just  touched  it,  and  ran 
down  stairs.  As  be  pusaed  through  the  lower 
ball  the  librarv-duor  stood  njar,  he  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  sitting  in  the  recess  o(  a  win- 
dow. It  was  Margaret,  holding  a  book  listless- 
ly in  one  hand,  wbile  the  other  supported  her 
«beek.  She  was  looking  out  at  the  square, 
where  a  German  band  was  playing  "Love 
Not",  and  her  face  wore  tt  look  bo  lonely  and  so 
sad,  thut  it  touched  him  to  the  heart.  If  Lei- 
cester ClifFe  hod  one  really  pure  feeling  for  any 
human  being,  it  was — strangely  enough — for 
this  plain,  silent  cousin  of  his,  whom  nobody 
eyer  noticed.  He  went  in,  and  was  bending 
over  bee  with  his  fair  hair  touching  her  cheek, 
before  she  heard  bim. 

"Maggie — little  cousin — what  is  the  mnt- 
ter?" 

She  started  np  with  a  suppressed  cry,  her 
dark  face  turning,  for  a  moment,  brightest 
oriroson,  and  then  white,  even  to  tlie  lips. 

"O  Leicester  1"  she  oried,  laying  her  hand 
on  her  fast-throbbing  heart ;  "  how  couIJ  you 
startle  me  BO?" 

"  Did  I  ?  I  am  eorry  J  What  a  nervous  lit- 
tle puss  it  ia.  Her  Gracious  Majesty,  up-stairs, 
told  me  you  were  asleep." 

"  For  shame,  Sir !    Have  yon  been  with  Lady 
1  Agues  f" 

"  Oh,  haven't  I  ?"  said  Leicester,  making  a 
■light  grimace.  "What  are  you  doing  here 
alone?  Why  are  you  not  out  riding  with  your 
cousin  ?" 

♦'  I  prefer  being  here.    Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

"No  t     What  makes  you  so  pale  ?    I  remem- 
ber, long*  ago,  rhen  we  played  hide-and-seek  to« 
S ether  in  the  old  balls  of  Castle  Cliffe,  you 
ad  obeeUs  like  rose-berries,  but  they  are  as 
white  as  those  lace  curtains  now." 
"  Oh,  rare  pale  Margaret ! 
Oh,  fair  pale  Margaret !" 

tell  your  old  play-fellow  what  it  is  all  about." 

She  glanced  up  for  a  moment  at  the  hand- 
aome  face  bending  over  her,  and  then  stooped 
lower  over  her  book,  turning  almost  paler  than 
before. 

"My  good  little  consi^,  tell  me  what  it 
means." 

"Nothing!" 

"I  know  better  I  Young  ladies  don't  go 
about  like  white  shadows,  with  as  much  life  in 
tiiem  as  one  of  those  marble  statues,  for  noth- 
ing.   Are  you  ill?" 

"Nol" 

"  Are  you  happy  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"Ts  tiiat  grand  sultaua  up  atalra  good  to 
yeuV" 


"And  the  princess  royal— 4iow  does  she  treat 
you?" 

"  Cousin  Yiotoria  is  like  a  sister." 

"  Then  what,  in  Heaven's  nam<>,  hasorusbcil  all 
the  life  out  of  the  little  Maggie  Shirley  I  romp- 
ed with  Isng  syne!  Do  you  know  you're  bol 
the  ghost  of  your  former  self,  Mnggie  ?" 

She  did  not  speak — she  only  held  the  book 
close  to  her  face,  and  something  fol'  ou  it,  mid 
wet  it.  There  was  a  tap  on  tiio  door,  and  a 
servant  entered. 

"  Miss  Margaret,  my  lady  wants  you  to  come 
and  read  to  her." 

"  I  must  go,  Leicester.    Good-morning  I" 

She  was  gone  in  an  instant,  and  Leicester, 
feeling  there  was  a  screw  loose  somewhere,  and, 
like  all  of  his  stupid  sex,  too  blind  to  guess 
within  a  mile  of  the  tmth,  went  down  the  steps, 
took  his  horse  from  the  groom  in  waiting,  and 
dashed  off  through  the  Park.  As  he  entered 
Rotten  Row  be  was  confronted  by  three  eques- 
trians :  Colonel  Shirley,  his  daughter,  and  Tons. 
The  image  of  Yiotoria  had  been  before  him  all 
the  way,  flashing  in  lace  and  jewels  as  ho  had 
seen  her  last  night,  but  now  she  dawned  upon 
him  in  quite  another  vision  of  beauty.  From 
her  childhood  the  girl  had  taken  to  riding  ai 
naturally  ns  she  had  to  sleeping,  and  she  sat  her 
spirited  Arabian  with  as  easy  a  grace  as  sire 
would  have  sat  on  a  sofa.  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  bewitching  than  the  exquisitely  fib- 
ting  habit  of  dark-blue  cloth  ;  the  exuberant 
curls  confined  in  a  net,  seeing  that  curls  under 
a  riding-hat  are  an  abomination  ;  her  fair  cheeki 
flushed  with  exercise,  the  violet  eyes  sparkling 
and  laughins  with  the  very  happiness  of  living 
on  such  a  day,  and  the  rosy  lips  all  dimplc'l 
with  glad  smiles.  She  touched  her  blncll 
plumed  hat,  coquettishly,  h  la  tnilitaire,  with  ber 
yellow  gauntleted  hand,  as  the  young  gentleman 
bowed  before  her. 

"  Well  met,  Cliff'e  1"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  we 
were  just  speaking  of  you.  Come  borne  and 
dine  with  ns." 

"  Thanks.    I  regret  to  say  I  am  already  c»> 


To-morrow,  then  I  Have  you  any  engage- 
ment for  to-night  ?    We  are  for  the  theatre." 

"  None  ;  and  I  have  promised  her  ladyship  to 
drop  into  her  box.  Miss  Shirley,  I  need  not 
ask  if  you  have  recovered  from  the  fatigue  of 
last  night ;  you  are  as  radiant  as  a  rose." 

"  Oh,  I  am  never  fiitigued  !"  said  Miss  Shirley, 
with  her  ironk  laugh.  "  Papa,  come  ;  Clando 
is  impatient    Au  revoir,  Mr.  Oliffe." 

She  looked  back  at  him  with  a  saucy  glance, 
waving  her  band,  and  the  next  moment  was 
dashing  away  out  of  sight.  And  Leicester  Cliffa 
went  to  bis  hotel  to  arcss  for  dinner,  witli  "• 
dancing  shape,  an  image  gay",  haunting  bii 
mind's  eye,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything i^N 
— the  princess  royal  on  horseback. 


Tlie  ( 

a    very 

Leiccstc 

all  at  J 

over.     ' 

in  pane 

wliulo  f 

ia^ucd   1 

ing  his 

so  inuci 

right  wl 

order,  al 

leys.     L 

splendid 

like  an  i 

with  a  I 

off  her  t 

leaning  < 

sense  vei 

good-nat 

very  sim 

ver"  stil 

cur  ains. 

Agnes  rc< 

"Lazy 

are  late, 

•  Undine' 

your  eye 

There  sh( 

the  come 

Vivia  t 

him  withj 

to  his  aui 

while  the 

hia  respei 

had  iner< 

talking- 

snd  in 

flow. 

"  Have 
die  was 
"  Neve 
"Ah! 
love  •  Un 
I  took  a 
pnrpose 
Look!  t 
It  wei 
knight  b( 
ed  wood, 
smiled. 

"  This 
tern  to 
ever  visi 

"Do 
a  long  ttJ 
"It  is.! 
with  Lad 
site,  sat 
tenant 

{er— a 
tmade 
the  rauc 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFIf^. 


(ffj 


]o«i  aba  trcftt 


0  you  to  oome 


am  already  e*- 


Tlie  dinnor-partv  at  Lor.l  Honry  Lislo's  wns 
ft  very  ii«»ii>y  nn-l  prolontjdl  ntfiiir  iiiil«e»l. 
Leicester,  tliiiiKifu'  of  tlic  llMutn'.  wislicd  tlictn 
all  at  Jvriclio  a  liiou^aiii]  times  before  it  wait 
over.  'I'lio  lloHe  of  Sussex  was  toasted  so  often 
ia  ptinoii  and  port,  tliicl:  and  sweet,  that  tho 
whole  party  were  ratlior  glorious  when  they 
issued  forth — Leicester  excepted.  Remend)er- 
ing  his  engagement,  he  bad  not  imbibeil  quite 
BO  much  of  the  rosy  as  the  rest,  and  was  all 
rigiit  when  he  presented  himself,  according  to 
order,  at  the  stage-box  belont^ing  to  the  Shir- 
leys.  Lady  Agnes  was  there,  as  usual,  in  a 
•plundid  toilet;  besida  her  aat  Vivia,  looking 
like  an  angel  in  moii'u  antique  and  emeralds, 
with  a  magnificent  opera-cloak  half  dropping 
off  her  bare  and  beautiful  shoulders.  Tom  was 
leaning  devotedly  over  her  chair,  talking  non- 
sense very  fast,  at  all  of  which  Miss  Shirley  was 
good-natured  enough  to  laugh  ;  and  Margaret, 
very  simply  dressed,  according  to  custont,  snt 
ver*^  still  and  quiet  under  the  shadow  of  the 
eui  ains.  The  Colonel  was  absent ;  and  Lady 
Agnes  received  him  with  gracious  reproof. 

*'  Lazy  boy  I  The  first  act  is  over,  and  you 
are  late,  as  usual !  Such  a  charming  play — 
•Undine' I  Tom,  hold  your  tongue,  and  use 
your  eyes,  or  else  go  aad  talk  lo  Margaret ! 
Tbore  she  sits,  like  little  Jack  Horner,  alone  in 
the  corner,  moping!' 

Viviu  turned  her  beautiful  face  and  welcomed 
him  with  a  bewildering  smile ;  and  Tom,  deaf 
to  bis  aunt's  hiut,  merely  moved  aside  a  little, 
while  the  new-comer  bent  over  her  chair  to  pay 
his  respects.  The  wino  he  h.\d  been  drinking 
had  merely  raised  his  epirits  to  an  excellent 
talking-point.  Vivia  was  a  good  talker,  too  ; 
and  in  ten  minutes  conversatian  was  in  full 
flow. 

•'  Have  you  ever  seen  that  play — '  Undine'  ?" 
die  was  asking. 

"  Never." 

«'  Ah  I  it  ia  beautiful !  I  love  it,  becu'ise  I 
love  '  Undine'  herself.  Do  you  know.  Monsieur, 
I  took  a  fancy  to  study  German  first  for  tlie 
parpose  of  reading  'Undine'  in  the  original? 
Look  t  the  curtain  is  rising  now  I" 

It  went  up  as  she  spoke,  ond  showed  the 
knight  battliqg  with  the  spirits  iu  the  enchant- 
ed wood.  Leicester  looked  at  the  stage  and 
smiled. 

"  This  first  visit  to  the  theatre  since  my  re- 
tern  to  England  reminds  me  of  the  first  time  I 
ever  visited  a  theatre  at  all." 

"  Do  you  remember  it  ?  It  must  have  been 
along  time  ago?" 

"  It  is.  It  is  eighteen  years.  I  wns  in  a  box 
with  Lady  Agnes  and  my  mother  ;  and,  oppo- 
site, sat  Sir  Roland  and  your  father,  then  Lieu- 
tenant ClifFe,  Lord  Lisle,  and  that  yellow  law- 
fer — a  money-lender  he  was  then — Mr.  Sweet, 
t  made  a  vivid  impression  on  me — the  lights, 
the  rausio,  the  gay  dresses,  and  the  brilliant 


scenery.  I  forget  whot  the  piny  was,  but  I 
know  the  house  was  crowded,  because  it  was  t!ie 
last  appearance  of  a  beautiful  actress,  Madamoi* 
Belle—'' 

lie  had  been  speaking  with  animation,  but 
bo  stopped  suddenly  ;  for  tlio  *>oautiful  face  was 
crimHoii,  and  thoro  was  a  quick  uplifting  of  tho 
haugh'y  head,  which  reminded  him  forcibly  of 
Lady  Agnes. 

'■Mademoiselle  Vivia?"  she  said,  lifting  l|cr 
violet  eyes  with  a  bright  free  glaaoe  to  his  face. 
"  My  mother — my  beautiful  mother,  whom  I 
have  never  seen  !' 

"Miss  Shirley,   I  did  not  mean— I  never 
thought  I     CttD  you  forgive  mo?" 

"  Out  of  my  heart.  Monsieur.  See  I  there  ia 
•Undine'!" 

She  leaned  forward.  A  tum'ult  of  applause 
shook  the  house,  and  he  bent  over  too.  There 
was  the  sea-coast  and  tho  fisherman's  cottage, 
and  there  from  the  sea-fbam  rose  "Undiae". 
robed  in  white,  with  lilies  in  her  hair.  It  re- 
minded Tom  Shirley  of  tho  "Infant  Vcniw"  ; 
it  reminded  Leicester  Cliffe  of  Barbara — tho 
same,  though  he  did  not  know  it.  In  the  dazslo 
of  tho  music,  and  lights,  and  the  girl  bee  d^ 
him,  lie  bad  not  thought  of  her  before  ;  and  ncT 
her  memory  tcame  back  with  a  pang,  half  plea- 
sure, half  pain.  Somehow,  Vivia's  thoughts, 
by  some  mysterious  rapport,  were  straying  in 
the  same  direction  too. 

"Monsieur  CI iiTe,"  she  said,  so  suddenly  lift- 
ing her  violet  eye*  that  he  was  disconcerted, 
"do  you  know  Borbarri  Black?" 

The  guilty  blood  flow  to  his  face,  and  be 
drew  back  to  avoid  the  innocent  eyes. 

"  I  have  seen  her!" 

She  laughed  a  gay  little  mischievous  laugh. 

"I  know  that!  Tom  told  me  all  about  the 
May  Queen,  and  how  you  were  struck.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is,  but '  Undine'  always  reminds 
me  of  Barbara." 

"Does  she?" 

"  Yes.  Barbara  was  a  little  watcr-sprito  hor- 
Rolf,  yon  know  ;  and  I  wonder  ebo  has  not  melt- 
ed away  into  a  miniature  cascade  before  tliis. 
Did  she  ever  tell  you  she  saved  ray  life  ?" 

"No!" 

"  Proud  girl !  Spartan  Barbara !  Is  sho  as 
handsome  as  she  was  long  ago  ?" 

"  She  is  very  handsome." 

Mentally  she  rose  before  him  as  he  spoke  in 
her  mimic  chariot,  crowned  and  sceptred,  with 
eyes  shining  like  stars,  and  cheeks  like  June 
roses  ;  and  lie  drew  still  farther  back,  lest  the 
violet  eyes  should  read  bis  guilt  in  his  faod. 
She  drew  book  a  little  herself  to  avoid  the  fire 
of  lorgnettes  .directed  at  their  box — some  at  tiie 
irre.it  Sussex  .leiress,  others  to  the  noble  and 
lovely  head  alone. 

"  'Undine'  reminds  me  of  her,"  she  went  on, 
"  only  '  UndJie'  died  of  a  broken  heart ;  and  if 
Barbara  wore  deoeived,  I  think — " 


04 


UNMASKED ;  OH, 


■4# 


She  stopped  with  a  blutb  and  a  laugh. 

*•  Qo  on,  Miss  Shirley." 

••  I  think— bat  I  am  fooliih,  porhapa— that 
aho  W(>ulil  have  revenge  ;  that  elio  would  have 
it  in  her  to  kill  her  betrayer,  instoaJ  of  molting 
away  into  the  sea  of  neglect,  nml  being  beard 
of  no  more." 

He  turned  pale  aa  he  looked  at  the  Rtacre, 
where  Btood  tlio  false  knight  nnd  liis  higlfbcrii 
bride,  while  Undine  floated  away  in  tiio  moon- 
li^it,  BJnging  her  death-song.  Aguin  Vivia 
leaned  forward  to  look. 

"  Poor,  forsaken  •  Undine'  f  Ah  I  how  I  have 
half  cried  my  eyes  out  over  the  story  I  ond 
howl  hate  tunttrcnchoroHS  lIuMcbrandl  I 
oonld  -oonld  nininst  kill  him  myself!" 

'*IIavo  you  no  pity  for  him?*'  siiid  Leicester, 
turning  pal<  r,  as  ho  identified  himself  with  the 
condemned  knight.  "  Think  how  beautiful 
Bertralda  is  ;  and  '  Undine'  was  only  the  fish- 
erman's daughter  I" 

"That  makes  it  all  the  worse  I  Knights 
ahould  have  nothing  to  do  with  fishermen's 
daaghter's  1" 

"Not  oven  if  they  are  beautiful  ?" 

"  No ;  eagles  don't  mate  with  birds  of  para- 
dise." 

"  IIow  haughty  you  are !" 

"  Not  at  all.  You  know  the  proverb,  '  Birds 
of  a  feather.  Poor  Barbara !  I  do  pity  her  for 
being  poor !" 

"  Does  wealth  constitute  happiness  V" 

*'  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  do  know  that  poverty 
would  constitute  misery  for  mc.  I  um  thankful 
I  am  Victoria  Shirley,  the  heiress  of  Castle 
GLififo  ;  and  I  would  not  be  any  one  else  for  the 
world !" 

She  rose,  as  she  spoke,  with  a  light  laugh. 
The  curtain  had  fallen  with  the  laab  scene  of 
"  Undine",  and  Lady  Aitnes  was  rising,  too. 

"Where  are  you  goTng?"  asked  Leicester. 
"  Will  you  not  wait  for  the  afterpiece  ?" 

"A  comedy  after  'Undine'!  IIow  can  you 
suggest  such  a  thing !  Oh,  never  mind  me.  I 
will  follow  you  and  grandmamma." 

So  Leicester  gave  his  ana  to  grandmamma, 
and  led  her  fortli,  Vivia  gathering  up  her  flow- 
ing robes  and  following.  Tom,  who  had  long 
ago  retreated,  sulky  and  jealous,  from  the  field, 
came  last  with  Margaret. 

The  carriage  was  at  the  pavement ;  the  foot- 
man held  the  door  open  ;  the  ladies  were  handed 
within — Margaret  wrapping  her  mantle  around 
her,  and  shrinking  away  into  a  comer  the  mo- 
ment she  entered. 

Vivia  leaned  forward,  and  held  out  her  snowy 
hand,  with  the  smile  of  an  angel. 

"Good-night,  Monsieur.    Pleasant  dreams!" 

He  raised  the  pretty  hand  to  his  lipt. 

**  They  will  be  enchanting.  I  shall  dream  of 
you !" 

Lady  Agnes  bent  forward  with  a  look  of  tri- 
oraph. 


**  And  your  answer,  Leice«f.er.    You  ««fft  Id 
give  it  to-night.    Quick !    Yes  ()r  no." 
..yes!"  

CHAPTER  xvin. 

A  DUTirCL  OKANPnAroiITKll. 

The  drive  homo  was  a  silent  one,  or,  at  least, 
it  Would  l;ave  been,  only  Vivia  chatted  like  a 
magpie  all  the  wny.  Lady  Agnes,  sitting  with 
her  luce  to  llie  horse,  looked  thouglitful  and  pre- 
occupied ;  and  as  for  Margaret,  silence  was  her 
forte. 

Vivia  stopped  at  length,  with  a  pout. 

"  I  declare  you  are  too  provoking,  grand- 
mamma 1  Here  I  have  asked  y<>n  three  tiiiiec 
what  you  tlionght  of  the  Countess  Portiei,  to- 
night, and  lier  superb  opals,  and  you've  never 
deigned  to  answer  me  once." 

Iltr  lody8l»i|>,  coming  out  of  a  bro?n  study, 
looked  at  lier  displeased  granddaughter. 

"My  dear,  excuse  me;  I  was  thinking  o{ 
somt'iliirg  else.     What  wore  you  saying  V* 

"  Ever  so  many  things  ;  but  you'and  Marga- 
ret won't  speak  a  word.  Perhaps  Margaret  ii 
thinking  of  the  conquest  she  made  to-night." 

"  What  oonquestr'  asked  Lady  Agnes,  look- 
ing suspiciously  at  her  niece,  who  shrank  far- 
ther away  as  she  was  spoken  of,  nnd  had  tnro 
scarlet  spots  on  cither  cheek  quite  foreign  to  her 
usual  complexion. 

'*  Tom,  of  course  !  Could  you  not  see  he  wm 
her  very  humble  most  obedient  servant  nil  the 
evening  ?  I  wisli  you  joy  of  your  victory,  Mar- 
guerite." 

"  Thank  you  I  You  forget  he  only  came  tn 
me  in  desperation,  beonuBo  ycAi  discarded  him 
Cousin  Victoria." 

"  Both  Tom  and  Margaret  know  better  thsn 
to  dream  of  sueh  a  thing,"/^uid  Lady  Agnes, 
with  dignity.  "Tom  must  marry  a  fortune; 
for  he  can  only  take  a  ]>uur  wife  on  the  princi- 
ple that  what  won't  keep  one  will  keep  two.  Ai 
for  Margaret,  I  shall  see  that  she  is  properly  set- 
tled in  life,  after  you  are  married." 

"O  Grandmamma!"  said  Vivia,  laughing. 
"  What  an  idea  I" 

"  A  very  reasonable  idea,  my  dear.  You  ex- 
pect to  bo  married  some  time,  I  trust.  And, 
apropos  of  flirtations,  what  do  you  call  your 
tcle-d'tite  this  evening  with  my  handsome  ne- 
phew?" 

"A  cousinly  chat,  grandmamma,  of  course," 
said  the  young  lady,  demurely. 

"  Ah  I  Cousinly  chat !  Precisely  !  And 
what  do  you  think  of  this  new-found  cousin?" 

Miss  Vivift  shrugged  her  pretty  sisoulders  in 
very  French  fashion,  that  bad  a  trick  of  grand- 
mamma's self  in  it. 

"  I  have  not  had  time  to  think  of  him  at  alL 
I  only  met  bim  last  night  for  the  first  time,  yea 
recollect." 

'*And  bow  long  does  it  take  to  form  yonr 
mighty  opinions.  Mademoiselle  Talleyrand.  Do 
you  like  him?" 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


6S 


Ton  ««rt  to 


no. 


TKB. 

fl,  or,  at  leait, 
olmltcd  like  « 
8,  sitting  with 
(litftil  aiitl  pre- 
'ciico  wat  ber 

pout. 

okiiig,  grand- 
on  tliroe  timet 
!8«  I'urtioi,  to- 

you'vo  never 

broT-n  itudy, 
lighter. 

OS  thinking  o{ 
flaying  ¥" 
ou'ond  Marga- 
ps  Margaret  ii 
do  to-night." 
]y  Agnes,  look- 
mo  eiirank  far- 
f,  and  hud  two 
:e  foreign  to  her 

11  not  SCO  he  wai 
servant  all  tlie 
ur  victory,  Mar- 
ie only  came  t"^ 

I  discarded  him 

now  better  than 
,id  Lady  Agnes, 
arry  a  fortune; 
)  on  the  priuci- 

II  keep  two.  At 
e  is  properly  set- 
)d." 

rivia,  laughing. 

'  dear.  You  ex- 
t,  I  trust.  And, 
I  you  call  your 
y  handsome  ne- 

ama,  of  course," 

'rccisely !  And 
-found  cousin?" 
itty  sitoulders  in 
I  trick  of  grand- 

ik  of  him  at  alL 
iie  first  time,  yoo 

ko  to  form  yoni 
i  Talleyrand.  Do 


"  Yf ;  tliat  ie,  I  don't  know." 

*'  Do  yen  like  him  better  than  the  Marquis 
defit.  HilarvT" 

**  O  grauuniamma  I"  said  Vivia,  blushing  viv- 
idly. 

'•  You  have  changed  your  opinions,  if  yon 
do."  said  Lady  Agnes,  a  little  malicioa'sly. 
•  Long  ago,  wlion  Sir  Koliuid  gave  yon  the 
pony,  named  L<'ioestcr,  after  this  newfound 
cousin,  you  insisted  on  olnuiging  the  name  to 
Ciando,  en  amour.     Do  you  recollect?" 

"  Grandmamma  I    I  was  such  n  goose,  then." 

"  Exactly.  And  in  six  years  more,  when  you 
look  back,  you  will  iliink  you  were  just  as  great 
a  goose  now.  Of  course,  you  have  deoidudthat 
Leicester  is  handsome  ?" 

"There  can  bo  but  one  opinion  about  that," 
said  the  young  lady,  ns  the  cnrriatro  stopped  be- 
fore the  door,  and  she  tripped  tij^htly  up  the 
steps,  humming  an  air  from  "  Undine  . 

A  most  aristocratic  and  sleepy  porter  threw 
open  the  door,  and  tbcv  entered  the  brilliantly- 
lighted  ball. 

Margaret,  with  s  very  brief  good-night,  went 
to  her  room ;   and    vivia,  gnvly  kissing  her 

{[rand mother,  was  about  to  follow,  when  that 
ady  detained  her,  and  opened  the  drawing-room 
door. 

"  Not  good-night,  Victoria.  It  is  only  ten 
o'clock,  and  too  early  to  think  of  bed.  Come 
in  here.  I  have  five  words  to  say  to  you,  that 
may  ns  well  be  said  to-night  as  to-morrow." 

Very  much  surprised  at  grnndmamraa's  grave 
tone,  Victoria  followed  her  into  tlx!  deserted 
drawing-room,  on  whose  marble  her.rth  a  few 
red  embers  still  glowed  ;  for  the  Mi^y  evenings 
were  chilly,  and  ner  ladyship  liked  fires.  The 
girl  sat  down  on  a  low  ottomnn  beside  the  elder 
lady's  couch,  looking  very  pretty  with  flushed 
eheeks  and  her  brilliant  eyes,  her  golden  hair 
falling  damp  and  uncurled  over  her  shoulders, 
fi-om  which  the  gay  opera-cloak  was  loosely 
slipping  to  tho  floor.  She  lifted  up  an  inno- 
cent, inquiring  face,  like  that  of  a  little  child. 

"  What  is  it,  ma  mere  ?*' 

Lady  Agnes  tjok  one  tiny,  taper  hand,  spot- 
less and  ringlesB  as  the  free  young  heart.  Miss 
Shirley  never  wore  rings. 

"Pretty  little  hand !"  she  said,  caressing  it, 
the  cold  blue  eyes  looking  fondly  down  into  tho 
beautiful  up-turned  face  ;  "  and  how  well  an  eu- 
gagement-rmg '^•ould  become  it  I" 

"  O  grandmamma!" 

"  You  expect  to  wear  an  cngageraent-ring 
some  time,  my  dear !  You  do  not  always  ex- 
pect to  be  Miss  Shirley." 

"  1  wish  I  could  be.  It  is  suoh  a  pretty  name, 
I  never  want  to  change  it !" 

"Little  aimpletonl  If  I  have  my  way,  you 
■hall  change  it  within  two  months  I" 

"  Why,  grandmamma  I" 

**  Doirt  look  BO  Mtonished,  child.    One  would 


think  you  never  had  such  ftn  idea  m  marriage  lo 
your  life  I" 

"  Fiut,  grandmamma,  I  don't  want  to  be  mnr- 
ricd  I"  said  Mademoiselle,  with  the  prettiert 
pout  in  tho  world  ,  "  it  is  so  dowdyish  !  And 
then  I  am  too  young — I  am  only  eightoea  t" 

"  Eighteen  is  an  exoeileut  marriageable  age, 
my  dear — I  was  married  a  year  younger  thuu 
that  I" 

'*  Grandmamma,  have  you  got  tired  of  me  all 
of  a  sudden,  that  you  want  to  Mod  me  away  ? 
What  have  I  done." 

"  You  great  baby  I  What  has  it  done  I"  mim- 
inioking  the  young  lady's  tone.  "  I  shall  have 
you  put  in  pinafores  and  sent  back  to  the  nurs-, 
ery,  if  you  don't  learn  to  talk  sense  I  Do  you 
know  why  I  have  rejected  all  the  eligible  offers 
you  have  had  this  winter  ?" 

>'  Because  you  are  the  dearest*  kindest  grand- 
mamma in  the  world,  and  you  knew  your  Vio 
did  not  want  to  accept  any  of  them  I" 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  Tlicy  have  been  re- 
jected because  I  have  reserved  you,  since  you 
were  twelve  years  old,  for  another  f" 

Up  flew  the  flaxen  eyebrows,  wide  opened  the 
violet  eyes,  in  undisguised  amaze. 

"  Since  I  was  twelve  years  old  i  Why,  I  waa 
onl,    that  age  when  I  came  first  firom  1*  ranee." 

'■RigV.'  I  And  from  the  first  moment  I  saw 
you,  your  destiny  was  settled  in  my  mind  I" 

Lady  Agnes  was  certainly  a  wonderful  woman. 
She  ought  to  have  been  at  the  head  of  a  nation 
instead  of  at  tho  head  of  the  fashionable  society 
of  London.  The  calm  consciousness  of  triumpa 
radiated  her  pale  face  now,  and  she  looked  down 
like  an  empress  on  tho  ilaxen-haircd  fairy  at 
her  feet,  snr.iiug,  too,  at  the  look  of  unntterahle 
wonder  on  the  pretty  countenance. 

"  Can  you  guess  who  this  favored  gentleman 
ia,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Guess !     Oh  dear  me,  no,  grandmamma  I" 

«  Try  I" 

"  It  can't  be— it  can't  be—" 

"  Who  ?"  said  Lady  Agnes,  curiously,  as  she 
stopped  with  nn  irrepressible  little  laugh. 

"  Tom !  You  never  can  mean  Tom,  grand- 
mamma?" 

"Tom!  Oh  what  a  child!  You  may  well 
call  yourself  a  goose  I  Of  course  nut,  you  lit- 
tle idiot.  I  mean  a  very  different  person,  in- 
deed— no  one  else  than  Leicester  Clino  !" 

The  hand  Lady  Agnes  held  was  suddenly 
snatched  away,  and  the  girl  covered  her  ft?,ce 
with  both,  with  a  beautiful  movement  of  modestv. 
Lady  Agnes  laughed — her  short,  satirical  laugli. 

"Don't  blush,  dear  child  I  There  is  nobody 
here  but  grandmamma  to  see  it !  What  do  yoa 
think  of  your  intended  bridegroom  f" 

"  To  think  that  I  should  have  laaghed  and 
talked  with  him  as  I  did  to-night!"  said  Vivia, 
iu  a  choking  voioe,  as  she  turned  away  her  hid- 
den face,  "and  he  knowing  this  I  O  grand- 
mamma, what  have  you  done?" 


OG 


VXMASKED;  OR, 


"  IT^tbini;  tbut  yon  neoil  po  'ato  lij'sterics 
abont !  Are  you  never  goinj?  to  laugh  nnd  tiilk 
with  the  person  yon  inteiiil  to  innrry  ?" 

She  did  not  B|ieak,  niid  the  la<ly  saw  that  the 
arertod  cheek  was  scarlet. 

'*  You  are  right  iu  thinking  he  knows  it.  lie 
does  ;  I  told  him  to-day,  and  ho  haa  oonscntcd  !" 

No  answer. 

"Uo  admirea  you  exceedingly— lie  loves  yon, 
I  am  sure,  and  will  tell  you  so  ftt  the  proper 
opportunity.  Nothing  could  be  more  desirable, 
nothing  more  suitable  thaa  this  m^ttcii.  I  havo 
set  my  heart  on  it,  and  so  liae  Sir  RohinJ,  for 
year3.  You  will  ho  the  happiest  bride  in  the 
world,  my  daughter !" 

The  heiress  of  Cnstle  Gliffe,  one  liau>1  still 
shading  the  averted  face,  the  other  ouain  held  in 
grandmamma's,  the  scarlet  cheek  vailed  by  the 
falling  hair,  thj  graceful  little  figure  drooping, 
never  spoke  or  looked  round. 

"  lie  is  everything  the  most  romantic  raaiflen 
could  wish — young,  handsome,  agreeiVble.  a  man 
and  a  gentleman,  every  inch !  Then  he  ia  a 
Cliffe — not  your  cousin,  though ;  consins  should 
never  marry — and  heir  to  a  fortune  second  only 
to  your  own." 

Still  silent. 

"Child!"  cried  Lady  Agnes,  impatiently, 
"  what  are  you  thiniu^'^  of?  are  you  asleep  ?  do 
you  hear  me?" 

"Yea,  grandmamma." 

"Then  why  don't  you  answer!  You  will 
revcr  dream  of  refusing,  surely." 

It  came  so  hesitatingly,  though,  that  the  lady, 
who  had  been  leaning  easily  back,  sat  up  very 
straight  and  lookc  1  at  hor. 

•'  Victoria,  I  am  surprised  at  you  !  Did  you 
ever  dream  for  a  moment  }  w  would  be  left  lo 
choose  any  stray  coxcomi),  such  as  girls  are 
given  to  take  a  fancy  to !  llavu  you  not  always 
understood  that  your  marriage  was  to  be  arrang- 
ed by  your  guardians,  myself  aud  your  father  V  ' 

"Docs  papa  know  of  this?"' 

'•  Certainly  I    I  told  him  to-day,  after  dinner." 

Vivia  rcniombereil,  now,  that  papa  and  grand- 
mamma had  been  closeted  in  close  conveis;  for 
over  an  hour,  after  dinner ;  and  how  the  Colonel 
had  come  out,  looking  very  grave,  and  had 
given  her  a  glance  in  passing,  half-tender,  half- 
mirthful,  half-sad ;  had  declined  accompanying 
t'tcm  to  the  theatre,  and  had  solaced  himself 
with  cigars  all  the  rest  of  tiie  afternoon.  She 
Btartod  up  now  at  the  recollection. 

"Grandmamma,  I  must  see  pana!  I  muat 
apeak  to  pupa  about  this  to-niglitl" 

Lady  Agnes  sat  up  very  stately  and  dis- 
pleased. 

"  Is  it  necessary  you  should  speak  to  hini  be- 
fore you  answer  me,  Miss  Shirley  ?" 

"O  grandmamma,  don't  be  angry!  but  I  feel 
■0 — BO  strange ;  and  it  'n  all  so  sudden  and 
^ueer!" 


"  Rentembcr,  Victoria,  tli.it  I  hive  set  my 
heart  on  thia  Miatter,  and  that  It  hns  been  set  on 
it  for  years.  Take  care  you  do  not  disappoint 
rac !" 

Victoria  Knelt  softly  down,  her  beautiful  eyes 
ill  ltd  with  tears,  nnd  touched  the  still  smooth 
wiiite  hand  with  her  lips. 

'•  G:iindmftnima,  you  know  I  would  not  disap- 
point y«Mi  for  all  the  world  !  Surely,  it  is  little 
as  I  cttfi  do,  after  all  these  years  of  care  and 
love,  to  yield  my  will  to  yours!  But,  I  must 
— I  mnst  see  papa  !" 

"  Very  well.  You  will  find  him  in  the  libra- 
ry, 1 4fiare  say  ;  but  I  must  have  your  answer 
to-night." 

''  Yoa  shall.  I  will  be  back  here  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

"That  is  my  dutiful  little  granddoughter." 
said  Lady  Agnes,  otooping  to  touch  the  pretty 
ple.ading  lips  with  her  own.  "  Go,  then  ;  I  will 
wait  here." 

The  fairy  figure  with  the  golden  hair  floated 
down  the  staircase,  through  the  hall,  and  into 
the  library.  An  odor  met  her  at  the  door — not 
the  odor  of  sanctity,  but  the  fragrant  one  of  ci- 
gars, heralding  the  gentleman  who  sat  in  the 
crimson  ana-chair  by  the  window.  The  gas 
had  been  turned  down,  and  one  flickering  ray 
ahme  pierced  the  darkness  like  a  lance.  The 
lace  curtains  had  been  drawn  back,  and  the 
pale  starlight  shone  in  and  rested  on  the  Colo- 
nel, sitting  witii  his  back  to  the  door,  nnd  his 
eyes  looking  up  at  their  tremulous  beauty. 
One  hand  rested  on  a  paper  on  bis  knee  ;  the 
other  absently  held  a  cigar  that  had  gone  out 
long  ago.  Ihe  handsome  an<?  ever  gay  face 
looke<l  strangely  pale  and  grave,  and  he  did 
not  see  the  figure  floating  through  the  shadowy 
room,  with  the  wan  green  emeralda  flashing 
feebly  on  the  white  neck,  until  it  sank  down 
with  a  cry  of  "O  papa!"  beside  him;  and  a 
pretty  flushed  face,  and  a  shower  of  gold  hoir 
fell  bowed  on  his  knee.  Then  he  looked  down 
at  it,  not  in  snrnriso,  but  with  the  same  glance, 
half  tender,  hall  gay,  half  sad. 

"  Well,  Vivia,  it  has  come  at  last,  aud  my 
little  girl  has  found  out  she  is  no  longer  a 
child."  * 

It  was  a  characteristic  trifle — character  is  al- 
ways shown  best  in  trifles — that  while  Lady 
Agnes,  overlooking  in  her  grand  and  lofty  way 
the  very  memory  of  so  plebeian  a  personage  ub 
the  dead  French  actress,  always  called  her 
granddaughter  Victorio,  not  Vivia,  the  Colonel 
scarcely  ever  thought  of  coiling  lier  anything 
elae. 

"Papa!  papa!"  sobbed  Vivi:i,  her  voice  los- 
ing itself  in  a  sob.     "  I  never  thought  of  this  !" 

He  laid  his  hand  lovingiy  on  the  little  bowed 
head. 

"I  have  bern  sharper-eyed  than  you,  Vivin, 
and  have  foresi.'cn  what  was  coming  long  ago, 
though  my  lady-mother  has  never  given   m« 


credit  for 

you.  to-nii 

-Thisn 

"  And  M 

"  O  pap 

thing  uuti 

"  Sly  dji 

the  matte 

"Oh,  I 

know  wha 

unexpeete 

nil !     Oh ! 

France,   ii 

where  I  wi 

"  Foolis 

spite  of  h 

tress,  "  is 

ried  ?" 

"It  is 
grand  mam 
"You  f( 
who  is  sen 
have  Leic 
groom,  y( 
nnd  you  ii 
er !"  laugh 
Voice. 
"  Papa, 
Onolittl 
Lis  lips,  wl 
water. 
"  When 
"Tonijj 
"  And  w 
'•  Pana, 
Ills  hai 
grew  stcri 
Been  it  on( 
"Never 
nnibitious 
tiint  ever 
spoke  En^ 
weigh  on( 
daughters 
Bwer,  Vivi 
one  living 
Vivia  Ic 
and  clung 
"  Dear, 
Oh,  the  uj 
affair  is,  t 
lie  lau( 
"  Oh,  it' 
over  the 
nud  die 
I  have  a 
comes  oft", 
lueantimo 
«a\  Yes. 
' '  Will 
"  My  ci 
you  have 
ui  \iT' 


ive  set  my 
1  been  act  on 
;  disappoint 

'autiTal  eyes 
still  siuooUi 

1(1  not  disap- 
it  is  little 
of  onre  nnd 
But,  I  mnst 

in  the  libra- 
your  answer 

e  in  ten  min- 

nddaughter." 

ih  the  pretty 

then  ;  I  will 

I  hair  floated 
mil,  and  into 
.he  door — not 
int  one  of  cl- 
\o  sat  in  the 
>w.  The  gas 
Bickering  ray 
i  lance.  The 
aok,  and  the 
on  the  Colo- 
door,  nnd  his 
iilous  beauty, 
his  knee  ;  the 
had  gone  out 
ever  gay  face 
?,  and  he  did 
1  the  ehiulowy 
raids  flashing 
it  sank  down 
)  bim  ;  and  a 
r  of  gold  hair 
looked  down 
same  glance, 

last,  and  my 
no   longer  a 

iaraotcr  is  al* 
t  while  Lady 
and  lofty  way 
I  personage  us 
8  called  her 
a,  the  Colonel 
her  anything 

her  voice  los- 
ught  uf  this !" 
16  littio  bowel 

an  you,  Vivin, 
ling  lung  iigo, 
ver  given  ui« 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


67 


credit  for  so  much  penetration.  She  bia  toIJ 
you.  to-night,  then  V" 

•'This moment,  papa." 

"  And  what  has  my  Vivia  said  ?" 

"  O  pupa !  Do  you  think  I  conld  say  any- 
thing until  I  had  seen  you  ?" 

"  My  darling,  I  have  not  one  word  to  say  in 
the  matter.     Vivia  shall  please  herself." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  say!  I  don't 
knaw  what  to  do !  It  is  all  go  sudden  and  so 
unexpected  !  and  I  don't  want  to  be  married  at 
oil !  Oh  I  I  wish  I  was  back  in  my  beautiful 
France,  in  my  dear,  dear  old  convent-home, 
where  I  was  always  so  peaceful  and  so  happy  !" 

"  Foolish  child !"  said  the  Colonel,  smiling  in 
spite  of  himself  at  the  storm  of  chiMish  dis- 
tress, "  is  it  then  so  dreadful  a  thing  to  be  mar- 
ried ?" 

"It  is  dreadful  to  leave  yon,  papa,  and 
grandiuam.r,a,  and  all  Umt  I  love." 

**You  forget,  Vivia,  tlmt  it  is  grandmamma 
who  is  sending  you  away  !  And  then  you  will 
have  Leicester  Clifife  to  love  —  your  bride- 
groom, you  know — handsome  and  dashint,' — 
nnd  you  will  soon  forget  us  old  folks  altogolh- 
er  !"  laughing  still,  but  with  a  little  tremor  of  the 
Voice. 

"  Papa,  when  I  forget  you,  I  will  be  dead  !" 

One  little  hand  lay  in  his,  and  he  lifted  It  to 
Lis  lips,  while  the  stars  shook  as  if  seen  through 
water. 

"  When  is  my  Vivia' to  answer grandmama?" 

"Tonight." 

"  And  what  does  she  intend  to  say?" 

''  Papa,  you  know  I  must  say  Yes!" 

Ilis  hand  closed  over  hers,  and  his  muuth 
grew  stern  and  resolute,  as  Lady  Agues  had 
seen  it  once  eighteen  years  before. 

"Never,  my  girl,  unless  you  wish  it!  The 
ambitious  drea.MS  of  all  the  Cliffca  and  Sliirleys 
tliiit  ever  existed,  from  the  first  of  them  who 
spoke  English  at  the  Tower  of  Babel,  shall  not 
weigh  one  feather  in  the  scale  against  my 
daugiitcr's  inclinations !  Let  your  heart  an- 
Rwer,  Vivia,  Yes  or  No,  as  it  chooses ;  nnd  no 
one  living  shall  gainsay' it!" 

Vivia  looked  lialf  frightened  nt  the  outbreak, 
and  clung  closer  to  his  protecting  arm. 

"  Dea?',  dear  piipa!  how  good  yon  nro  to  me  ! 
Oil,  the  most  misemblG  thing  about  the  whole 
aiFair  is,  that  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  I" 

lie  laughed  his  own  gay,  careless  laugh. 

"  Oh,  if  tlmt  be  all.  inignonne,  wo  must  get 
over  the  objection.  You  don't  mean  to  live 
nud  die  an  old  maid  for  papa's  sake,  surely  1 
I  have  R  plin  of  my  own,  when  this  wedding 
comes  off,  that  I  shall  tell  you  about  presently; 
lueantimo  grandmamma  .awaiting  for  you  to 
say  Yes.     It  will  bo  Yes,  will  it  not?"' 


•'  Will  yon  consent,  papa  ?" 
"My  consent  dcpenaaon  yoi 


yours.     You're  sure 
Vdu  have  no  personal  objection  to  this  young 

Ul   11?"' 


"  None  at  all,  papn.    How  could  I?" 

*'  'Irue  ;  he  is  good-looking  nnd  apiritcd-^T- 
•rything  the  veriest  heroine  of  romance  eould 
desire  ;  and  the  whole  affair  is  very  much  like 
ft  romance  itself.  I  must  say.  And  you  don't— 
but  I  hardly  need  ask  that  question — you  don't 
care  for  any  one  else  ?" 

"  Papa,  you  know  I  don't !" 

"Very  good!  I  see  no  reason,  then,  why 
you  should  not  marry  him  to-morrow.  If  the 
hero  of  this  sentimental  plan  of  grandmamma't 
ha<]  been  any  other  man  than  Leicester  Cliffe,  I 
should  not  have  listened  to  it  for  a  moment  t 
but  as  it  is,  I  fancy  it's  all  right ;  and  we  must 
conclihle  it's  one  of  the  marriagea  made  in 
heaven.  I  own  I  have  a  weaknesa  for  people 
fallitig  in  love  in  the  good  old  orthodox  way,  aa 
I  did  myself  long  ago.     Look  here,  Vivia." 

Vivia' had  often  noticed  a  slender  gold  chain 
that  her  father  wore  round  bis  neck,  and  won- 
dered  what  talisman  was  attached.  Now  he 
withdrew  it,  displaying  a  locket,  which  he  open- 
ed and  handed  to  her.  Vivia  looked  at  it  with 
awe.  The  beautiful  uplifted  eyes;  the  dark  hair, 
half  waves,  half  curls,  falling  back  from  the 
oval  face;  the  superb  lips  smiling  upon  the 
gazer— site  knew  it  well.  Reverentially  she 
liftetl  it  to  her  lips. 

"  It  is  my  mamma — my  dear  dead  mamma  I" 

"  It  is !  nnd  next  to  you,  my  Vivia,  I  have 
prised  it  through  all  those  years  as  the  most 
precious  thing  I  possessed.  I  give  it  to  you, 
now.  and  vou  must  wear  it  all  your  life  I" 

"  I  shall  wear  it  over  my  ^heart  till  I  die ! 
But,  papa — " 

She  had  been  looking  at  it  with  strange  in- 
tentnesa,  and  now  she  glanced  up  at  him  with  • 
puzzled  face. 

"Well,  Vivia?" 

"  Papa,  it  ia  the  oddest  thing  ;  but,  do  you 
know,  1  think  it  resembles  somebody  I've  seen." 

•'Who?' 

"  You  will  laugh,  perhaps,  but  it  is  Barbara 
Black  !  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  seen  her ; 
but  I  have  a  good  memory  for  faces,  and  I  do 
think  she  looks  like  this." 

The  Colonel  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  it 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  have  0otice<l  it  before.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  turn  of  the  head  .and  in  the  smile 
that  is  like  Barb.ira;  but  we  see  these  chance 
rf'Semblances  every  da}'.  Are  you  not  afraid 
Lady  Agnes  will  be  tired  waiting  ?"' 

"I  will  go  to  her  in  a  moment,  papa!"  she 
said,  kis^iing  the  likeness  again,  and  placing  it 
round  her  neck.  "  But  first  tell  me  about  the 
plan  you  spoke  of,  after  I  am — "  she  atoppedi 
blushing. 

"Married,  Viva!"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Yes,   papa.      You  spake  of  m  plan,  yoa 


;now 


V" 


"  I  did,  ainl  here  it  ia  I" 

lie  pointed,  as  ho  spoke,  tu  the  paper,  w 


68 


UNMASKED ;  OR, 


wfli  filled  with  accounts  of  tlio  xrnr.  whose  echo 
from  the  fruten  ehorca  of  Russia  was  ihon 
clanging  throiieb  Llie  world.  A  grcnt  victory 
had  just  bcun  gained,  and  the  colunius  wire 
dark  with  devds  of  l>iood  and  heroism.  Vivia 
clasped  her  buuds,  and  turned  pale,  with  a  prc- 
senttueDt  of  whut  wad  coming. 

"It  is  hardly  tli«  thing,"  enid  the  Colonel, 
"that  an  old  soldier,  like  myself,  should  loiter 
here  iu  inglorions  idleness,  while  such  deeds  ns 
these  are  making  men  famous  every  day.  Now 
that  Yivia  is  to  leave,  the  old  house  at  homo 
will  be  rather  dreary  for  comfort,  and  I  shall  be 
off  for  Sebastapool  within  a  week  after  you  be- 
come Mrs.  Glifte." 

She  did  not  speak.  She  clasped  her  hands 
on  his  shoulder,  and  dropped  her  face  thereon. 

"The  plan  is — Lady  Agnes  has  the  whole 
thing  arranged — that  you  and  she  and  Leicester 
(for  she  intends  accompanying  you)  arc  to  pass 
'he  summer  in  France  and  Switzerland,  the 
winter  in  Italy,  enjoy  the  carnival  in  Venice, 
Holy  Week  in  Rome,  and  come  back  to  Clifton- 
lea  m  the  following  spring,  so  that  you  will  be  a 
whole  year  absent.  Meantime  I  shall  be  storm- 
ing redoubts,  and  leading  forlorn  hopes,  and 
writing  letters,  in  the  Russian  trenches,  to  my 
pretty  daughter,  who  will  be—" 

"  Praying  for  you,  papa !" 

He  had  felt  his  shoulder  glowing  wet  with 
tears,  and  before  he  could  speak,  she  had  risen 
and  glided  lightly  from  the  room. 

Up-stairs,  Lady  Agnes  was  pacing  up  and 
down,  in  a  little  fever  of  impntieuce.  Vivia 
paused  fur  a  moment,  hb  she  passed  on  her  way 
to  her  own  room. 

"  I  will  do  every  thing  ycu  wish,  grandmanw 
ma!"  site  suid.    *•  Good  night!" 

Conquering  Lady  Agues!  What  a  radiant 
smile  she  cast  after  the  graceful  form,  disap 
pearing  in  its  own  chamber.  But  once  tlKre, 
the  bride-elect  fell  down  on  her  knees  by  the 
window,  and  buried  her  face  in  Ler  haiidH,  feel- 
ing that  the  shining  stream  along  which  she  had 
floated  all  her  life  was  becoming  turbid  and 
rough,  and  that  she  wos  drifting,  without  rudder 
or  compass,  into  an  unknown  sea,  void  of  sun- 
shine or  shore.  So  long  she  kuelt  there.,  that 
the  stars  waxed  pale  and  went  dimly  out,  one 
by  one,  before  the  j,'ray  ey«8  of  the  coming 
morning,  and  one— the  morning  »,tar — looked 
brightly  down  on  her  alone.  Well  might  Vivia 
keep  vigil.  In  one  hour  her  whole  childhood 
had  passed  from  her  Uke  a  dream. 

CHAPTER  XtX. 

BACK   AGAIN. 

Once  more  the  oatliedral- bells  were  cracking 
their  brazen  -broats  ringing  out  peals  of  joy  ; 
onc<;  more  there  were  triumphal  arches  all  along 
jHigh  street  t-)  the  very  gates  of  Castle  Cliflfe, 
!  with  "Welcome,  Rose  of  Sussex!"  "Long  life 
and  happiness  to  the  beu-css  of  O&stle  Cliffe  I" 


and  a  score  of  other  flaming  mottoes ;  once  more 
the  charity-childrea  turned  out  to  strew  the 
road  with  (lowers  ;  once  more  the  town  was  as- 
sembled in  gula  attire ;  once  more  there  were 
to  be  public  feasting  and  rejoicing,  and  beer 
and  beef  for  every  "chawbacou"  iu  Sussex,  ad 
libitum.  Tiint  day  month  there  had  been  shout- 
ing for  the  May  Quee^ — now  there  was  shout- 
ing for  a  fur  greater  personage,  no  less  than  the 
heiress  of  Castle  Ciitfo. 

In  the  Bunsiiine  of  a  glorious  June  afternoon, 
under  the  arches  of  everg:  .en  and  over  the 
flower-Btrcwn  road,  came  the  triumphal  chariut 
of  the  heiress,  otherwise  a  grand  barouche, 
drawn  by  four  handsome  grays  in  silver-plated 
harnwss,  with  out-riders.  In  this  barouche  sat 
the  Colonel  and  Miss  Shirley,  Lady  Agnes  and 
Leicester  Cliffe.  The  young  lady  was  kept 
busv  bowing  ;  for,  as  the  crowd  saw  the  briglit, 
smiling  face,  they  hurrahed  again  and  aga'a, 
with  much  the  same  enthusiasm  as  that  which 
made  the  Scotch  Commons  shout  whea  Mary 
Stuart  rode  among  them,  "  God  bless  that  sweet 
face!"  In  the  next  carriage  came  Sir  Roland 
and  Lord  Lisle,  Tom  and  Margaret  Shirley,  and 
the  two  that  followed  were  filled  with  a  croird 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  from  the  city,  whum 
Lady  Agnes  had  brought  down,  though  they 
knew  it  not,  to  be  present  at  her  grand-daugh- 
ter's wedding. 

The  great  gates  swung  majestically  back  ud- 
dcr  tiiu  carved  arch,  emblazoned  with  the  es- 
cutcheon of  the  ClifTes,  to  let  the  car  of  triumph 
in  ;  and  the  lodge-keeper  stood  in  the  door  uf 
thu  Italian  cottage,  to  bow  to  the  passing  prio. 
cess.  The  flag  on  the  domed  roof,  flung  out  its 
folds  proudly  to  the  breeze,  and  a  long^  line  of 
servants,  many  old  and  gray  iu  the  service  of 
the  family,  stood  drawn  up  in  the  hail  to  bij 
them  Welcome.  There,  too,  stood  Mr.  Sweet, 
ever  smiling  and  debonnaire,  the  sunshine  seem- 
ing to  glint  and  scintillate  iu  his  yellow  hair 
and  whiskers,  in  his  jingling  jewelry  and  smiliDi; 
mouth,  until  he  made  one  wink  again  to  look 
at  him.  All  sorts  of  miracles  had  been  work- 
iun' iu  tlie  house  for  the  last  fortnight.  A  whole 
rogiuieut  of  upholsterers  had  been  sent  dowu 
from  London,  to  set  every  room  topsy-turvv 
and  the  servants  distracted,  and  to  make  them 
perfectly  resplendent  with  damask  and  velvet. 
And  now  the  heiress  of  all  this  wealth  and  splen- 
dor, fair  ond  youthful,  h?r  cy«'8  filling  witii 
teors,  was  entering,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  lur 
hero  of  a  father,  stately  and  handsome ;  and 
some  of  the  servants  were  wiping  their  eyes,  too, 
and  whispering  how  like  she  was  to  all  the 
Cliffed  generally,  but  particularly  to  the  ah- 
be£8,  whose  portrait  hung  in  the  liall  above. 

Marshaled  by  (he  housekeeper,  evervbodv 
hurried  off  to  their  rooms  to  dress  for  duiue'r. 
Vivia  went  to  hers  (the  Rose  Room),  where  b1i6 
had  slept  the  first  night  she  ever  entered  Castle 
Cliffe.    In  all  the  changes  and  preparations  it 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


69 


38 ;  once  more 

to  strew  the 

town  was  aa- 

po  there  were 

ing,  aud  beer 

iu  Sasaex,  ad 

ftd  been  sbout- 

re  was  about- 

>  leas  tban  tbc 

lue  afteruoon, 
and  ovc-r  the 
impbal  cbariut 
Lud  barouche, 
n  silver- plated 
s  baruuohe  eat 
idy  Agnca  and 
iidy  was  kept 
saw  the  bright, 
ain  and  aga'o, 
aa  that  which 
ut  wbea  Mary 
bieaa  that  awoet 
me  Sir  Roland 
ret  Shirley,  and 
with  a  crond 
Lhe  city,  wham 
n,  though  they 
p  grano-daugU- 

Ically  back  vin- 
)d  with  the  es- 
)  car  of  triumph 

in  the  door  uf 
e  passing  pr:n- 
lof,  flung  out  its 

a  long  line  of 

the  service  of 
the  ball  to  hiJ 
,ood  Mr.  Sweet, 

BUDshine  eeetu- 
bia  yellow  hair 
elry  and  smiliDi; 
k  again  to  Juok 
bad  been  work- 
uight.  A  whole 
been  sent  dowu 
am  topsy-turvy 
1  to  make  thvm 
aak  and  velvet. 
vcalth  and  aplen- 
)«'a  filling   witii 

the  arm  of  lur 
handsome  ;  nud 
»g  their  eyes,  too, 
I  was  to  all  the 
laily  to  the  ab- 
le hall  abov'.'. 
eper,  evervbody 
ilresB  for  <Jinu>r. 
loom),  where  sli« 
er  entered  CastU 
1  preparations  xt 


bad  not  been  altered,  by  her  own  espeoial  re- 
qaeat ;  and  she  danced  round  it  like  the  happy 
child  alio  was,  glad  to  bo  huoie  again.     There 
stood  the  dainty  bod  in  the  recess,  guarded  by 
the  watchful  angel;  there  was  the  picture  over 
the  mantel — the  majestio  figure,  with  the  halo 
round  the  head,  blessing  little  children ;    and 
there,  yes,  there  was  one  change,  there    was 
another  picture — a  fair-haired  boy,  witli  a  face 
beautiful  as  an  angel;    tlie   picture   that  had 
once  hung  io  the  villa  in  Gliffewood,  and  sent  to 
her  by  Sir  Roland  within  the  last  fortnight,  as 
having  decidedly  the  beat  right  to  it.    Alone  aa 
aho  was,  her  cheeks  grew  hot  and  criniaon  at 
the  sight,  and  then  she  laughed  to  herself  oiid 
kissed  her  finger-tips  to  it,  and  resigned  herself 
into  the  hands  of  Jeannetto,  to  make  her  ))retty 
for  dinner.    And  pretty  she  did  look  when  it 
was  all  over ;  for  the  waa  too  impatient  to  go 
through  the  house  to  see  the  changes,  to  waste 
time  over  her  toilet.     Mr.  8wee%  standing  in 
the  hall  talking  to  the  housekeeper,  looked  at 
her,'  quite  lost  in  admiration,  as  she  came  out 
in  s  floating  amplitude  of  bright  blue  silk,  low- 
uecked  and  short-sleeved,  according  to  her  cool 
custom;  her  golden  hair  tnshly  curled,  falling 
around  her  in  an  amber  cloud  ;  her  blue  eyes 
shining,  her  rounded  cheeks  flushed.     Low  he 
bent  before  her,  with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  that 
waa  half  admiration,  half  derision.     Now,  Vivia 
did  not  like  Mr.  Sweet,  and  Mr.  Sweet  was  not 
fond  of  Vivia.    The  yonng  lady  had  an  unwink- 
ing  way  of  looking  out  of  her  great  I  lue  eyes, 
and  discerning  tinsel  from  gold,  despite  its  piti- 
ful glistening,  with  much  of  her  grandmother's 
eagUj  glance;  and  Mr.  Sweet  always  shrank  a 
little  under  those  fearless,  guiltless  eyes. 

"  He  is  too  sweet  to  be  wholesome,  Tom," 
she  had  said  once  to  her  cousin.  "  No  man  i  hat 
always  smiles  and  never  frowns,  is  anything  but 
a  hypocrite." 

But  to-day  she  was  at  peace  with  the  world 
and  all  therein,  and  she  bent  her  pretty  head 
and  shimmering  curls  till  they  flashed  back  the 
sunlight,  and  then  danced  down  the  hall  like  an 
incarnate  sunbeam  herself. 

It  was  well  Vivia  knew  the  old  house  by  heart, 
or  she  certainly  would  have  got  lost  in  the  laby- 
rinth   of   halls,  and    corridors,  and    passages, 
changed  as  they  were  now.      A  certain  suit  of 
oak  rooms  in  the  Agnes  Tower,  with  windows 
facing  the  east— she  liked  a  sunny  eastern  pros- 
pect—had been,  by  the  orders  of  Lady  Agnes, 
fitted  up  ostensibly  for  Miss  Shirley  ;  in  reality, 
for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cliffe.    There  was  a  boudoir 
whose  very  carpet  was  a  miracle  in  itself— vio- 
lets and  forget-me-nots  so  natural    that  you 
scarcely  dared  step  on  them,  on  a  groundwork 
of  purest  white,  like  flowers  blooming  in  a  snow- 
bank.   There  were  window  curtains  of  Muo  sat- 
in, with  silver  embroidery,  untler  white  lace  ; 
walls  paneled  in  azure  satin  and  hun\<  with  ex- 
quisite pictures,  each  of  which  bad  C(»st,  in  Italy 


and  Qermany,  a  small  fortune  in  itself.  Tiiere 
was  a  wonderful  enbinel  of  ebony  and  gold,  vases 
half  as  titU  as  herself,  a  ceiling  whoro  silver  star;* 
shone  on  a  blue  ground,  and  chairs  of  8oiu<' 
wliito  wood,  that  looked  like  ivory,  cusliioued 
in  blue  satin.  There  was  a  rosewood  piano  in 
one  corner,  with  the  music  she  liived  on  the 
rack  beside  it.  Tliero  were  carved  awingiug- 
shelves  of  the  same  white  wood,  with  uU  hir 
favorite  authors,  gayly  bound,  thereon,  from 
William  Shakspero  to  Charles  Dickens.  Thero 
were  hot-house  flowers  on  the  table,  and  sweet- 
voiced  canaries,  singing  in  silver-gilt  cages ;  and 
a  portrait  of  herself,  resplendent  iu  the  dress 
she  had  worn  to  Court,  smiling  |serenely  down 
on  all.     And — 

"  Dear,  dear  grandmamma!"  she  murmuivd. 
"  How  good,  liow  kind,  how  generous  she  is  !'* 

The  next  of  the  suite  was  an  oratory — a  qu««r 
room,  fitted  up  as  a  curiosity,  to  be  shown  to 
visitors.     The  floor  was  of  black  polished  oS'k, 
inlaid  with  polished  wood  of  different  colors  iu 
fanciful  mosaic,  and  slippery  as  ice.     The  walls 
were  hung  with  faded  silken  arras,  rcpresentiug 
the  adventures  of  Genevieve  of  Brabant,  the 
work  of  some  ancestress,  whoso  fingers  had  li;ng 
ago  mouldered  into  dust ;  and  standing  out  ou 
brackets  around  the  four  walls  was  carved  iu 
ebony  the  Way  of  the  Cross,  representing  the 
whole  mournful  iourney  to  Calvary,  from  rthe 
Judgment  Hall  of  Pilate  to  the  sepulchre  whe'ie- 
in  no  man  had  ever  lain  before.     Tlicre  wa»  a 
great  altar  carved  in  oak,with  a  toll  length  statao 
of  the  Madonna  crushing  the  head  of  the  S'tr- 
pent,  aud  opposite  was  another  of  Eve   being 
tempted  by  Iho  same  enemy  of  mankiud.     A 
dingy  painting  of  the  Last  SiippcV  served  for  au 
altar  piece  ;  before  it  was  a  prie-dieu,  or  kutel" 
ing-bench,  carved  also  in  ebony,  with  a  great 
iAuniinated  Roman  missal  thereon.     A  gothio 
window  of  stained  glass,  with  the  figures  of  the 
Twelve    Apostles    gorgeously   painted,  admit- 
ted the  afternoon  sunshine  in  rainbow  hues. 
Everything  in  this  room,  a  visitor  would  think, 
was  at  least  a  century  old.    Nothing  of  the  kind  ; 
Lady  Agnes  had  had  them  all  brought  from  Ger- 
many for  the  occasion.     Vivia  looked  round  her 
in  delight,  and  having  knelt  for  a  moment  to 
murmur  a  prater  bcfo-e  the  grand  altur,  passed 
on  to  the  next — the  dressing-room.     It  was  a 
bath-room  as  well  as  a  dressing-room  ;  the  walls 
were  incrusted  witii  mirrors,  reaching  f:  om  floor 
to  ceiling,  with  fragrant  O'-dar  closets  on  either 
hand.     On  one  of  the  tables  lay  a  dressing-case 
of  mother-of-penri,  and  the  carpet  and  hangiu 


Jf<r1' 


were  of  dark  crimson.  The  next  was  tlie  bed- 
chamber, a  snperb  room,  witii  four  lorgo  win- 
dows draped  in  green  velvet,  out  in  autiquo 
points,  and  lined  with  white  sutin,  overlooking 
an  extensive  prospect  of  terraces  and  slirub- 
bery,  and  plantations  and  avcnu»-s.  Green  and 
white  were  the  pervn'1>'>g  tints  throughout  the 
the  room ;    the  bed-hangings   were  of    tiiosi 


70 


UNMASKED;  OK, 


•liaJca ;  tlie  cosy-oliairs  and  lounges  were  nphol* 
itered  ia  green  velvet,  and  tbe  carpet  looked  like 
green  moBB  with  wreaths  of  white  roses  laid  on 
it.  And  then  came  another  dressing-room, 
whose  shades  were  amber  and  jet,  which  made 
Vivia  open  her  eyes  ;  and  beyond  it  there  was 
a  littio  btudy,  with  rosewood  »liclvcs  roimd  three 
sides  of  the  room,weil  filled  with  books,  and  there 
was  a  gentleman's  Turkish  dressing-gown  of 
bright  scarlet  and  yellow,  lying  over  the  back 
uf  an  arm-chair-,  and  ou  the  t:ii>lc  was  a  lung 
Turkish  pipe,  with  an  amber  mouth- piece,  and 
beside  a  crimson  foz.  The  other  side  of  the 
room  seemed  to  be  a  small  armor}',  for  there 
were  swords  and  daggers  of  Damascus  steel, 
whose  keen  blue  glitter  uiado  hur  flesh  creep ; 
and  pistols  and  revolvers,  at  sight  of  wliiclx  she 
recoiled  precipitately  to  tlio  otiicr  end  of  the 
room. 

"Grandiaamraa  is  determined  ihat  I  siinll 
have  a  variety  of  dressing-rooms!"  thought 
Vivia,  in  horrified  surprise  ;  "  bu.  what  all 
those  horrid  things  nro  for,  I  cannot  imagine! 
Does  she  expect  mo  to  wear  that  red  and  yellow 
dressing-gown  and  flumiu<^  cap,  and  smoke  that 
dreadful  long-stemmed  chibouque,  I  wonder? 
I  ehall  go  and  sec  !" 

Each  of  those  rooms  had  two  doors,  one  open- 
ing on  the  outer  hall,  the  ctiier  in  a  straight 
line  communication  with  each  other.  Vivia 
hurried  on  to  the  beautiful  boudoir,  and  W'th 
the  free,  light  elastic  step  peculiar  to  her,  trav- 
ersed the  ball  and  corridor,  the  last  of  which  was 
her  own.  The  door  of  the  lady's  dressing-room 
was  njar,  and  the  girl  looked  in. 

^'GraLdmamma,  I  have  been  throagh  the 
rooms,  and  they  are  charming  1  I  never  saw 
anything  prettier  in  my  life!" 

Lady  Agnes  was  sitting  listlessly,  with  her 
eyes  closed  and  her  hands  folded,  before  a  great 
Peycao  mirror,  under  the  hands  of  her  maid. 
At  the  sound  of  the  voice,  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  looked  round  in  s'irprise. 

"  My  dear  child,  is  this  really  you  ?  How  is 
it  possible  you  are  dressed  already  ?" 

Miss  Shirley  pu"ed  out  a  watch  about  the  size 
of  a  penny-piec  ,  set  with  a  blazing  oirelet  of 
diamonds,  and  consulted  it  with  precision. 

"  I  was  dressed  just  twenty  minutes  ago, 
firandmamma!'' 

"  What  an  absurd  toilet  you  must  have  made, 
then  !    C»m.3  in  and  let  mo  look  at  you  !'- 

Vivia  came  in  and  made  a  respectful  little 
housemaid's  courtesy. 

'*  0  my  Lady!  don't  soold,  if  you  please  I  I 
was  dying  to  see  the  rooms  ;  and  how  oould  I 
think  of  my  toilet  the  very  first  hour  I  got 
homo?' 

"  Well,  you  are  tolerable,"  said  Lady  Agnes, 
leaning  over  with  a  critical  eye,  "  but  too 
piniu,  «hi)<I ;  simplicity  is  very  nice  in  young 
gi»-U.  hutaoiu"  ornament — aflower,  a  few  pearls, 
ftvcrylhin^ln  keeping,  remem' er."   (She  herself 


was  blaxing  in  jewels.)  "  And  yon  Lave  rathet 
too  much  of  a  milkmaid  flush  on  your  cheeks ; 
but  still  you  are  very  well.  Where  did  yoa 
say  you  had  been  ?" 

"To  see  the  oak  rooms  in  the  Agnes  Tower. 
They  are  lovely,  grandmamma,  especially  that 
dear,  delightful  oratory,  which  is  prettier  even 
than" — Vivia  paused  suddenly,  and  Lady  Ag* 
nes,  with  a  little,  malicious  laugh,  finished  the 
sentence  : 

^  Than  the  famous  oratcire  in  the  Chateau  St. 
Hilary,  which  you  have  described  so  often,  and 
of  which  this  is  a  copy.  Well,  my  dear,  as  yoii 
declined  being  mistress  of  that,  I  determined 
you  should  possess  a  prettier  one  ;  and  so  yoa 
really  like  it?" 

"Of  course:  who  could  do  othctwise!  But, 
grandmamma,  I  don't  understand  why  I'm  to 
use  two  dressing-rooms,  and  what  all  those 
shocking  swords  and  pistols  are  fur !'' 

"Dear  child!"  said  Lady  Agnes,  in  German, 
that  Mademoiselle  Hortcnse,  the  maid,  might 
not  undcr^^^and,  "  they  arc  not  thine  alone)  but 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cliffe's!  The  amber  dressing- 
room  and  study  are  your  husband's  I" 

•'  Oh  I'  said  Vivia,  laughing  and  blushing. 

"  After  your  bridal-tour,  you  know,  they  will 
be  of?eupied — not  until  then  ;  and  afterward, 
when  you  visit  the  Castle.  And  now,  Victoria, 
there's  something  else  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
about — the  announcement  of  your  engagement. 
As  I  acceded  to  your  silly  entreaties  in  town,  and 
did  not  announce  it  there,  I  think  it  ia  only 
propi-r  that  our  guests  should  be  informed  im- 
luediatcl}'.  As  the  marriage  is  to  take  place 
itself  within  a  fortnight,  the  notice  even  now 
will  be  absurdly  short." 

"  O  graudmamma— no  I  don't  publish  it  yet, 
not  on  any  account  1" 

"  Victoria,  I'm  surprised  at  you  1  I  have  no 
patience  with  you?  Now  why,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  might  not  the  whole  world  know  it?" 

"  Grandmamma,  you  know  very  well.  I  told 
you  ia  town  why.  I  should  feel  so  ashamed 
and  BO  silly  I  and  I  am  sure  I  should  not  be  able 
to  speak  a  work  to  Monsieur,  my  cousin,  again, 
until  after  the  ceremony.  And  then,  to  think 
that  every  one  in  Cliftoulea,  and  in  Lower  OliflFe, 
and  in  Lisleham,  and  all  round  tiie  cou  itry  will 
talk  about  it,  and  my  name  will  be  ba.idied  on 
every  lip,  high  and  low  ;  and  how  the  trousseau, 
and  settlciMents,  and  parure  will  be  discussed  I 
and  how  the  sentimental  people  will  wonder  if 
it  was  a  love-match  or  a  mariage  de  convcnance ; 
and  how  they  will  conjecture  over  there  in  the 
town  what  sort  of  an  appetite  I  had  the  day  be- 
fore, and  how  many  tears  I  will  shed  on  being 
led  to  the  altar.  And  then  those  people  here — 
how,  for  the  next  two  or  three  weeks,  it  will  be 
the  sole  subject  of  discussion ;  how  they  will 
sliower  conscious  smiles  and  glances  at  me, 
whenever  I  appnmch,  and  make  our  united 
names  their  theme  over  the  billiard  and  oacd 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


71 


have  rathef 
»ur  cheeks ; 
re  did  joa 

;ne8  Tourer, 
ccially  that 
rettier  even 
1  Lady  Ag- 
finishcd  the 

Chateau  St 
o  often,  and 
lear,  as  yoa 

determined 
and  so  yon 

wise !    But, 

why  I'm  to 

it  all  those 

in  German, 
maiti,  might 
e  alone^  but 
ler  dreesing- 

blushing, 
>w,  they  will 
.1  afterward, 
ow,  Victoria, 
peak  to  you 
engagement. 
)  in  town,  and 
ik  it  la  only 
informed  im- 

0  take  place 
ce  even  now 

iiblish  it  yet, 

[    I  have  no 
fur  Heaven's 
low  it?" 
well.    I  told 

1  BO  ashamed 
Id  not  be  able 
iousin,  again, 
jcn,  lo  think 
Lower  Oli  fife, 
couitry  will 

)  ba.idied  on 
ho  trousseau, 
e  discussed  I 
ill  wonder  if 
s  convenance  ; 
there  in  the 
1  the  day  be- 
icd  on  being 
>eople  here — 
tks,  it  will  be 
ow  they  will 
luoes  at  me, 
)  our  united 
ard  and  oacd 


tat>leB ;  and  tell  each  other  what  an  excellent 
match  it  is ;  and  move  away,  and  luave  us 
alone,  if  we  chanoo  by  accident  to  come  togctlier 
amon)^  the  rest ;  and  I  will  be  congratulated, 
and  kissed,  and  talked  at.  O  dreadfufl  I  sliouKl 
never  survive  it  I" 

All  this  liad  been  poured  forth  with  such  cx- 
oited  veliemencc,  that  Lady  AgU'S  opened  her 
liglii",  blue  eyes  in  surprise,  and  Macleinuiselle 
llortonse,  witbovit  understanding  a  worJ,  stared 
an  1  pricked  up  her  cars.  As  slio  stopped,  witli 
very  red  clieeksj  and  very  briglit  eyes.  Lady 
Agues  broke  out,  with  energy  : 

"  Victoria,  you  arc  nothing  but  a  little  fool  P' 

"  Y  3,  grandmamma  ;  but  p-p-pleose  don't 
tell!" 

"Now,  grant  me  patience!  Was  there  ever 
anything  heard  like  this  ?  Pray  tell  me,  Miss 
iShirley,  if  you  are  ashamed  of  your  coming 
wedding?" 

"  O  grandmamma!" 

"  la  ib  ever  to  be  announced  at  all,  or  are  our 
quests  to  l<now  nothing  of  it,  until  the  wedding 
morning — tell  me  that?" 

"  Oil,  not  80  bad  as  that  I  Won't  nes*  week 
do?" 

"This  week  will  do  better!  Are  you  not 
aware  that  Leicester  leaves  to-morrow  for  Lnn- 
ilon,  to  arrange  about  the  settlements,  and  will 
not  return  within  three  or  four  days  of  the 
day?" 

•'  \  es,  grandmamma ;  and  I  don't  want  you 
lo  Bi\v  anything  about  it  until  ho  comes  back." 

"  Victoria,  tell  me — do  you  care  at  all  for  your 
future  husband  ?" 

Victoria  wilted  suddenly  down. 

'•  I — I  think  so,  grandmamma.** 

"  I — I  think  BO,  grandmamma !"  said  her  La- 
dyship, mimicking  her  tone.  "  Oh,  was  there 
ever  Buch  another  simpleton  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  I  Victoria,  I  am  ushamed  of  you  !  Where 
ore  you  going  now  ?" 

"  To  the  Queen's  Room.  Don't  be  angry, 
grandmamma.  I  shall  do  everytiiing  you  tell 
rue  ia  all  other  ways  and  all  other  matters ; 
but,  please,  like  a  dear  good  grandmamma,  let 
tue  have  mine  in  this  I" 

It  was  not  in  hum'  i  nature  to  resist  that 
sweet  coaxing  tone,  nur  that  smile,  half  gay, 
half  deprecating,  nor  yet  the  kiss  with  which 
the  grand  lady's  lips  were  bribed  and  sealed. 
Lady  Agnes  pushed  her  aw  ay,  half  smiling,  half 
petulant. 

"  You're  all  the  same  as  a  great  baby,  Victo- 
ria, and  altogether  spoiled  by  that  other  great 
baby — your  pnpa !    Go  away  I" 

Laughing,  V'otoria  went,  and  singing  to  her- 
self a  merry  chansonette,  danced  along  the  old 
'halls  to  the  Queen's  Room  in  the  Queen's  Tow- 
er. In  this  particular  room,  said  the  traditions 
of  the  house.  Quern  Elizabeth  had  slept ;  and, 
frtim  (hat  meuiorahlc  time,  everything  had  rc- 
lUiiintid  precisely  as  tlie  great  Queen  had  left  ib. 


It  bad  been  the  awo  and  admiration  of  Viiria's 
childhood— this  room— and  it  seemed  filled 
with  ghostly  rustling  now  as  she  entered,  as  if 
good  Queen  Bess's  one  silk  dress  still  rattled 
stiffly  ngiiinst  iho  moulded  wainscoting.  It  was 
a  dism.iily-old  npartmcut,  very  long,  and  very 
low-ceilingcu,  ith  great  oaken  beams  crossing 
it  transversely,  and  quartered  in  the  centre  in 
the  snmo  wood,  with  tiie  arms  of  Cliffo  sur- 
mounted by  the  Moody  hand.  A  huge  bed,  in 
which  the  Seven  Sleej)ers  might  have  reposed, 
with  lots  of  room  to  kick  about  in,  stood  in  the 
centre  af  tho  dusty  oak  floor,  and  the  daylight 
came  dimly  through  two  narrow,  high  windows, 
with  minute  diamond  paues  set  in  leaden  ease- 
ments, all  overrun  with  ivy.  There  was  a  black 
gulf  of  a  fire-place,  wherein  yule  logs  had  bias- 
ed a  Christmas  tune  ;  and  there  was  a  huge 
granite  mautel-picce,  with  a  little  ledge  ever  so 
far  \ip.  Tliere  must  have  been  giants  in  the 
days  it  was  used,  and  Vivia  kissed  the  cold 
gray  stone,  and  read  tho  pious  legend  carved  on 
it  in  quaint  letters :  '•  Mater  Dei,  memento  me  I" 
(Dear  reader,  if  you've  nevi  r  loved  wood  or 
stone,  you  cannot  understaml  Vivia.)  All  sorts 
«)f  grotesque  lieaJs  wore  carved  on  the  oak  pan- 
els— sylphs  and  satyrs,  tods  and  goddesses 
heavenly  and  infernal ;  and  opposite  each  oth- 
er, one  of  tho  niart\Ted  abbesses  and  Queen 
Elizabeth.  This  last  was  a  sliding  panel  open- 
ing with  a  secret  spring,  and  lending  by  a  sub- 
tcrrancons  passage  out  into  t!ie  park— a  secret 
passage  by  which  many  a  crime  had  been  con- 
cealed in  days  gone  by,  i.nd  which  Vivia  knew 
well,  and  had  ofien  passed  through  in  her 
childhood.  She  had  been  walicir  '  r^und  tho 
room  examining  the  carvings,  an--"  looking  at 
her  own  pretty  self  In  a  dusty  ol  :iiirror,  be- 
fore which  the  royal  tigress  of  England  had 
once  stood  combing  out  her  red  mane,  when 
she  was  interrupted  in  a  startling  and  mysteri- 
cus  way  enough. 

"  Victoria !" 

Vivia  started  and  looked  round.  Tho  Toioe, 
soft  and  low,  was  close  beside  her — came  actual- 
ly from  the  carved  lips  of  the  nun  in  the  paneL 
'  "  Victoria !" 

Again  from  the  lips  of  wood  came  the  name 
clear  and  sweet.  She  started  back  and  gazed 
with  blanchsd  cheeks  and  dilating  eyes  on  the 
beautiful  dust-stuijed  face.  Once  more  came 
the  voice,  vibrating  clear  and  distinct  through- 
out the  room. 

"  Victoria  Shirley,  the  hour  of  your  downfall 
is  at  hand !  For  six  years  you  have  walked 
your  way  with  a  ring  and  a  clatter  over  the 
heads  of  those  whose  handmaid  you  were  born 
to  be ;  but  the  hour  comes  when  might  shall 
succumb  to  right,  and  you  Bhall  be  thrust  out 
into  the  slime  from  which  you  have  arisen! 
Ileiress  of  Castle  Cli£fe,  look  to  yourself,  and 
remember  that  the  last  shall  be  first,  and  the 
first  shall  be  lost!" 


nor 


72 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


Tlie  faint,  low  yoice  took  a  Btcrn  nnJ  meuao- 
ing  tone  at  the  close,  anJ  then  died  avray  in 
impreasivo  eilence.  Vivia  bad  been  Btanding 
Orcathlees,  and  Bpel]-bound,  and  terror-struck, 
with  her  eyes  on  the  carved  nan's  face  over  the 
door.  When  it  ceased,  tho  spell  was  broken, 
and  Vivia  turned  in  horror  to  fly.  Not  lor 
worlds  would  bIic  have  gone  near  it  to  pass 
through  the  d<-or  ;  so  she  touched  the  spring  in 
th'j  secret  panel,  on<l  p»ssed  out  into  tlio  open- 
ing beyond.  As  it  closod  Bhutt'ni^  out  tho  last 
ray  of'light  and  leaving  liar  in  utter  darkness, 
she   caught  a  glimpse   of  a  dark  figure  disa|>- 

S earing  before  her  in  tho  gloom,  and  she  ilew 
own  along  the  spiral  staircase— how,  she 
scarcly  over  oflorward  know.  At  tlio  foot  was  a 
long  arched  storio  paasago,  nearly  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  in  extent,  ending  in  a  wiich'rness  of  ivy 
and  juniper,  cioao  beside  one  of  tiic  laurel 
wallis.  Through  it  she  flew,  pale  and  breath- 
less, paiisJiig  n-t  until  site  found  lierself  out  in 
•unshino,  with  tho  birds  singing  in  the  branches 
overlica.1,  and  the  pure  breezes  sweeping  up 
eool  and  sweet  from  the  sua.  Sometiiing  else 
was  there  to  reassure  her  also — a  figure  walking 
up  and  doven  tiie  laurel  walk,  and  smoking  fu- 
riously. It  turned  the  instant  after  she  emerged 
from  the  tangled  wilderne^js  of  ivy,  and,  seeing 
lier,  took  tiie  cigar  between  his  finger  and 
thumb,  and  stared  with  all  hi*  niiglit.  Vivia's 
courage  and  presence  of  mind  came  back  all  at 
once. 

"  Docs  Monsieur  think  I  have  dropped  from 
the  skies !"  she  osked,  coquettishly,  for,  being 
more  than  half  French,  Mademoiselle  Genevieve 
took  to  coquetry  as  naturally  as  a  wasp  takes  to 
stinging. 

"Mademoiselle",  said  Leicester  Cliffe,  flinging 
away  his  cigar,  and  coming  up,  "  1  might  very 
easily  bo  pardoned  for  mistaking  you  for  an 
antjel,  but,  in  the  present  instance,  I  merely 
tbuik  you  a.  J  a  witcii  I  Two  seconds  ago  I  was 
oil  alone ;  no  one  was  visible  in  any  direction 
but  myself.  At  the  end  of  these  two  seconds  I 
turn  round,  and  lot  there  Btands  before  me  a 
nhining  vision  in  gold  and  azure,  like  the  queen 
of  the  fairies  in  a  moonlit  ring.  Will  you  van- 
ish if  I  coTie  any  nearer?" 

"  You  may  coino  and  see !" 

He  needed  no  second  bidding.  And  ns  he 
•tood  before  her,  looki:ig  at  her  in  astonishment, 
he  saw  how  pale  she  was,  and  tiie  excited  gleam 
in  her  serene  blue  eyes. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Has  anything  fright- 
ened jou  ?  Why  are  you  looking 'so  pale?"  be 
Mked. 

She  shivered,  drew  closer  to  him  involuntarily, 
And  glanced  behind  ber  with  a  startled  face. 

"YJvia,  what  in  it?  Something  has  gone 
wrong  I" 

•'Yes 


you 


oome  away  from  here,  and  I  will  tell 


Be  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm,  and  turned 


down  the  laurel  wnlk.  It  ended  in  a  long 
avenue  leading  past  the  old  ruin  ;  and,  as  they 
entered,  ho  asked  again : 

"  Well,  Vivia,  what  has  gone  wrong,  and  how 
came  you  to  appear  there  so  suddenly  and  mys- 
teriously?" 

"  There  is  nothing  myaterious  about  my  get- 
ting there.  You  know  tho  subterraneous  pas- 
sage leading  from  the  Queen's  Tower  to  tho 
park  ?    I  merely  came  tlirough  that." 

"A  pleasant 'notion  I  to  come  through  that 
dark  and  rheumatio  old  vault,  when  you  could 
have  stepped  out  through  the  front-door  with 
double  the  case  and  convenience !  Did  you  see 
the  gliost  of  Queen  Elizabeth  on  the  way?" 

*•  No,  Monsieur  ;  but  if  you  laugh  a't  me,  I 
shall  not  say  another  word.  The  mysterioos  part 
is  to  come. ' 

"  Oh,  ther*:  iis  i; »..  'tery,  then — that's  refresh- 
ing!   Let  me  hear  itt" 

••  You  are  laughing  at  me !" 

"  By  no  means !  Pray  don't  keep  me  in  this 
torturing  suspense !" 

"Monsieur,  I  bad  been  through  the  house 
looking  at  the  improvements,  and  I  came  to  the 
Queen's  Room,  to  see  if  thev  had  been  sacrileg- 
ious enough  to  alter  that,  la  one  of  the  panels 
there  is  cawed  the  head  of  a  nun,  the  abbess 
Who—" 

"  Oh,  I  know  perfectlif !  Lady  Edith  Cli&e, 
wiio  was  murdered  there  in  the  old  monastery — 
what  else  ?" 

"  Monsieur,  there  was  a  voice — it  seemed  to 
come  from  that  head — and  it  said  tilings  it  chills 
my  blood  to  think  of!  I  think  there  was  no  one 
else  in  the  whole  tower  but  myself;  I  am  sure 
there  was  no  one  else  in  the  room ;  and  yet, 
there  was  that  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  from 
the  carved  head  !  Don't  laugh  at  mo,  Monsieur, 
I  am  telling  the  whole  truth !" 

Monsieur  was  not  disposed  to  laugh — not  at 
all.  He  was  tliinking  of  the  Nun's  Grave,  and 
of  tho  warning  voice  so  mysterious  and  so  sol- 
emn. This  voice  was  possibly  the  same.  Vivia 
looked  up  with  her  earnest  eyes. 

"  What  does  Monsieur  think  of  this?" 

"That  there  is  not  the  least  reason  in  the 
world  to  be  afraid.  Mademoiselle,  I,  too,  have 
heard  that  voioe !" 

"You!" 

••Erenso!" 

"Where?" 

"At  the  Nun's  Grave!" 

*'0  Monsieur,  I,  too,  heard  it  there  long  ago! 
I  was  a  child  then,  and  I  was  there  alone  with 
Barbara  Black !" 

"I,  too,  was  alone  with  Barbara  Black!" 
thought  Leicester,  but  he  only  said  :  "  Do  not 
distress  yourself,  Miss  Shirley — believe  me  that 
mysterious  voioe  is  not  supernatural !" 

"What,  then,  is  it?" 

"  That  I  do  not  altogether  know  t  I  have  a 
snspioion ;  if  it  prove  »  oertMntiy,  you  will  yet 


respec 
"and 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFR 


78 


High  at  me,  I 
lysterions  part 

-that*8  refresh- 


be  able  to  laugh  over  to  day's  terror.  Mean- 
time, I  have  sometliirig  else  to  speak  to  yott 
about,  as  I  believe  this  in  Uic  only  time  since  I 
have  liaJ  tlie  pKnBiiru  of  seeing  yuu,  that  we 
have  ever  been  for  fivo  luiiiutes  utterly  and 
completely  niorie  together!" 

Vivift  turned  p-Ue,  auJ  drawing  her  hand  sud- 
denly from  Ilia  urin,i<tuopod  tugitther  thedaitiies 
growing  under  tlnnr  feet,  lie  looked  at  hor 
with  a  smile  that  lind  a  little  of  sarconm  in  it. 

"Are  you  aware,  Mias  Shirley,  we  are  to  be 
married  in  a  fortnight  V" 

Vivia,  with  a  pule  face  and  stdrtled  eyes, 
looked  round  her  for  a  moment,  aa  if  meditat- 
ing flight;  and  Leicester,  with  an  inward  laugh 
at  her  evident  dread  of  a  '(.ve-scene,  took  her 
band  and  held  it  iirtnly.         \ 

"  Are  you  sure  you  know  we  are  to  be  mar- 
ried, Vivia  ?■' 

"  Yes,  Monsieur '."  very  faintly. 
"  You  know,  too,  that  I  leave  to-mcrrow  for 
London,  to  arrange  the  final  settlements,  and 
will  not  return  till  within  a  day  or  two  before 
the  wedding." 
'•■  Yes,  Monsieur !" 

"Aud  though  I  never  h.ad  an  opportunity  of 
telling  you  bo,  you  know,  of  course,  I  love 
you!" 

"Grandmamma  told  mo  so,  Monsieur!" 
Leicester  smiled  outright  at  this;  but  as  she 
was  not  looking,  it  did  not  matter.     Without 
lifting  h»r  eyes,  she  tried  to  release  her  hand. 
"  Please  to  lot  me  t^o,  Monsieur  Cliffe." 
"  You'll  run  away  if  i  do." 
"No  ;  but  it  is  time  we  were  returning  to  the 
iiouse — the  dinner-bell  will  ring  directly." 

»•  Ono  moment  only !  As  we  are  to  be  mar- 
ried so  soon,  it  strikes  me  I  should  liko  to  know 
whether  or  not  you  care  for  me  " 

With  her  released  hand  Vivia  was  tearing 
meroilossly  to  pieces  the  daisies  ahe  had  pulled. 
Bhe  was  fcllenfc  so  long,  with  face  averted,  that 
be  rcptated  the  question : 
••  Mademoiselle  does  not  answer." 
'♦  If  I  do  not  answer,  Monsieur,"  siie  said,  with 
infinite  composure,  looking  straight  before  her, 
"  it  is  because  I  was  thinking  bow  to  say  what  I 
feel  on  t!:"  *=iubjeot.  If  I  marry  you,  I  shall 
love  vou,  depend  on  that.  Your  honor,  or  as 
much*  of  it  as  will  be  in  ray  keeping,  shall  be 
dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life,  and  your  hap- 
piness will  be  the  most  sacred  thing  to  me  on 
earth.  But  as  for  love,  such  as  I  have  real  of 
and  beard  of  from  otuer  girls,  I  kn>w  nothing 
of  it,  and  if  you  ask  me  for  passion,  I  have  it 


membered  bow  he  had  stood  there  laitt,  and 
how  different  a  love  had  been  given  him  then. 
Much  as  he  admired  the  heiress  of  Castle 
Cliffe,  noble  and  high-minded,  unworthy  as  he 
felt  to  touch  the  hem  of  her  dress,  he  know  that 
Barbara  was  a  thousand  tiuK-a  more  to  his  taste. 
MittS  Siiirley  was  an  angel,  and  he  was  a  great 
(leal  too  much  of  theeanh,  earthy,  not  to  prefer 
the  dar'',  passionate  daughter  of  Ids  own  world, 
lie  did  not  want  to  marry  an  angel.  Had  Miss 
Shirley  been  a  fisherman's  daughter,  ho  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  falling  in  love  with  a 
drift  of  SCO-foam  as  she.  But  it  was  too  late  for 
all  such  thoughts  now,  and  he  suppressed  a 
sigh,  and  looked  down  at  the  fallen  trt'e.  He 
started  to  see  the  carved  initials  staring  him 
full  ia  the  face,  like  reproachful  gh-'Stx,  and  the 
guilty  blood  oame  crimson  to  his  brow.  Vivia 
saw  them,  too,  and  was  leaning  on  the  grass, 
looking  at  them  ourionaly. 

"Do  look  at  this,  Monsieur  I  B.  B.  and  L. 
S.  C.  Why,  those  last  are  your  initials ;  did 
you  carve  them  ?" 

*'  I  think  so— yes  I"  be  said,  carelessly. 

"  And  whose  are  the  others  t" 

Leicester  Cliffe  did  not  like  the  idea  of  will- 
fully telling  a  lie,  but  it  would  never  do  to  say 
"  Barbara  Black" ;  so  be  answered,  with  the 


Dot  to  give!  I  love  my  papa  best  of  lUl  on 
earth  ;  next  to  him,  and  in  a  diiforent  wav,  I 
respect  and  — "  a  little  tremor  of  the  voice  ; 
"and  love  you!  And,  Monsieur.  I  shall  be 
your  true  nnd  faithful  wife  until  death  !" 

In  speaking,  they  had  drawn  near  to  the 
Nun's  grave  without  noticing  it.  Tiiey  were 
•tai^i&g  on  its  vei^e  now,  and  one  of  tltetn  re- 


guilty  color  high  in  bis  face 

"I  don't  know!  There  is  the  five  minutes* 
bell ;  bad  we  not  better  return  to  tiie  house  ?" 

"I  should  think  eo;  what  will  grandmamma 
say  ?  I  have  been  fully  an  hour  rainhlinu'  about 
the  place,  and  I  love  every  tree  nnd  stone  in  it, 
even  that  frightful,  charming,  and  romantic 
Queen's  Room.  It  is  like  paradise,  this  place- 
is  it  not,  Monsieur?" 

"Any  place  would  be  like  paradise  to  me 
where  you  were,  Vivia !" 

She  laughed  gayly,  and  they  walked  away 
under  the  elms,  and  disappeared.  And  neither 
dreamed  of  the  unseen  listener  T?ho  had  heard 
every  word. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

ACCEPTED. 

Away  beyond  the  Nun's  grave  the  green  lanes 
and  windimr  avenues  of  Cliffo  Park  lost  them- 
s-.-lves  in  a  dry  arid  marsh,  where  tall,  blue  rock- 
ets and  fiam<--oolored  flowers  danced  crazy  fan- 
dangos in  the  wind,  where  the  sli^ep  nnd  cattle 
gruz«:d  in  the  rank  grass,  and  wln-ru  wil<|  straw- 
berries were  sosvn  liivo  scirlet  stars, on  thu  gold- 
en June  evening,  when  the  betrotiied  lovers 
stood  talking  by  the  fallen  elm.  At  the  head 
of  the  grave  whs  a  wild  jungle  of  tall  (urn,  and 
juniper,  and  reeds,  shaded  by  tliiok  eitns  and 
lieechcs— n  lontly  spot,  in  whodu  grecnisii  l>lack 
i^loom  many  a  dark  deed  might  bo  committed, 
an  I  no  one  the  wiser — a  place  as  gloom*'  and 
-ilent,  and  lonelv,  as  the  heart  of  a  primeval 
forost.  But  it  was  not  deserted  now  :  crouching 
among  the  fern  and  reedy  blossoms  was  a  figure 


!l*\-\ 


s> 


74 


UNMABKED;  OR, 


in  wLito — A  slender,  girlisli  flgure,  willi  orimaon 
buds  wrealiied  in  tliu  bauds  of  her  sbining  dark 
hair— a  figure  tliat,  on  coming  toward  tbe  Nun's 
Grave,  bud  diHCovcred  two  otbers  approaching 
it  from  iiu  oppudite  direction,  and  had  shrank 
down  hi-ro  out  of  sight.  Unseen  and  unheard, 
•be  liad  lislcnud  t<>  Ibe  whole  conversalion  ;  and 
it  v/an  well  neither  saw  tho  terrible  eyes  gleam- 
ing u(  on  them  from  tho  green  vines,  or  they 
■earcely  would  have  walked  back  to  the  dinner- 
table  us  composedly  and  as  happily  as  they  did. 
She  had  Blurted  at  fir^t,  flushing  redder  than 
tue  flow.>r»  in  her  hair;  but  this  had  pnssod 
away  as  quickly  as  it  cume  ;  and  as  sbo  half-sat, 
halNkucIt,  and  listened,  she  seemed  slowly  pe- 
trifying, turning  from  stone  to  ice.  Long  after 
they  went  away  she  knelt  there,  like  something 


earvcd  in   luurblo;  he^ 
color ;  her  eyes  lookin;^  > 
a  dull,  glazed,  vacant  a 
that  the  red  luncts  of  su.  > 
ing  green  gloom  had  dieo 
the  eveiiiiii;  wind  sigliin;; 


dress  »>'  \  face  aH  one 

■y  ai'-       j.jfore  her  with 

.     H:.  long  she  knelt, 

'  ?  p    '    ng  the  shift- 

•.:»«3  oy  one,  and 

fiorn  tho  stirred 


restlessly  in  the  branches  of  tlie  elms  overhead. 
Then  she  iiroHe.  witb  u  face  that  no  one  had  ever 
■een  Barbara  Black  wear  before.  They  had 
seen  her  in  sorrow,  in  anger,  in  pride,  and  joy ; 
bat  never  with  a  face  like  that,  so  set,  so  stone- 
like,  so  rigidly  calm.  She  might  have  been  a 
galvanized  corps'- ;  only  no  corpse  ever  had  eyes 
wherein  the  liglit  of  life  burned  with  so  fierce 
and  steady  a  glare.  She  had  not  gone  to  Clif- 
tonlca  that  day  to  see  the  triumphal  procession 
enter;  always  jealously  proud,  si"*  i/ns  more 
exclusively  so  now  than  ever,  for  t'  e  sake  of  an- 
other. Ob,  no  ;  it  would  never  do  for  tho  future 
bride  of  Leicester  Cliffc  to  bo  splashed  with  the 
mad  of  his  chariot-wheels,  like  the  rest  of  the 
eommon  herd ;  so,  smiling  in  heart  she  had 
drassed  herself  in  the  flowing  white  robes  of 
the  May  Queen,  in  which  he  had  seen  her  first, 
and  gone  forth  like  a  bride  to  meet  him. 

Of  course,  ho  had  been  dreaming  of  her  all 
day,  and  losing  his  sleep  thinking  of  her  all 
night,  and  fretting  himself  into  ^  fever  ever 
•:nce  he  went  awny,  to  get  back  to  lov^and  her 
—men  uhvays  do  in  such  cases!  Of  course, 
tho  first  visit  of  so  ardent  a  lover  would  be  to 
the  spot  made  sacred  by  their  plighted  vowa  ; 
and  she  would  be  there,  beautiful  and  radiant 
in  her  i>ri<lal  robes,  and  be  the  first  to  greet 
him  homo  1  Voung  ladies  in  love  are  invaria- 
bly fools,  mid  they  generally  get  a  fooTa  re- 
ward. Barbara  was  no  exception ;  and  verily 
«he  h  ui  her  reward.  As  she  rose  up  and  turn- 
ed away,  she  tottered,  and  leaned  for  a  moment 
against  a  tree,  witii  both  hands  clasped  hard 
over  her  heart. 

"  O  fool  I  fool  I  fool  I"  she  cried  out,  in  bitter 
•corn  of  herself.  "  Poor,  pitiful  fool !  to  think 
f,ha£  this  Ixart  should  quail  for  one  instant, 
thcfigh  trodden  under  the  feet  of  such  a  traitor 
and  dastard  as  that  T' 


There  was  •  atrong  net-work  of  tho  tall  rank 
vines  in  her  path,  but  ahe  brushed  them  aaida 
like  a  cobweb,  and  went  on  over  tho  arid  marsh 
on  her  way  to  tha  gates.  Bubbling  from  a  rook 
very  near  bfaem,  aod  sparkling  clear  and  bright 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  overhanging  fern, 
waa  a  crystal  spring,  with  a  sea -nymph 
watching  aver  it,  and  a  beautiful  little  drinking* 
cup  made  from  a  sea-shell  hanging  from  the 
stone  girdle  round  ita  waist. 

Barbara  filled  the  cup,  and  was  raising  it  to 
her  lips,  when  she  stopped.  For  the  carved 
face  of  the  goddesa  was  that  of  Victoria  Shir* 
ley,  and  earved  on  the  rose-tinted  shell  were 
the  words : 
"  Victoria  Regia." 

Barbara  drew  ber  white  lips  off  her  glistening 
teeth  with  a  low,  derisive  laugh,  and  dashed  the 
shell  so  furiously  against  the  aiatue  that  it  shiv- 
ered on  her  stone  bosom  into  a  thousand  frag- 
ments. 

"  Oh,  if  that  pretty,  rosy,  smiling  face  were 
only  here,  how  I  could  beat  out  every  trace  of 
its  wax -doll  beauty,  and  send  it  back,  hideous 
and  lacerated,  for  him  to  kiss  I"  she  said,  look- 
ing at  the  unmoved  smile  on  the  stone  face, 
witb  tho  eyes  of  a  tigress.  "^  Pretty  little  devil  I 
If  that  wero  she  in  reality,  instead  of  her  stone 
imago,  how  I  could  throttle  her  as  she  stands! 
Why,  I  would  rather  drink  poison  than  any. 
thing  on  which  she  had  looked  !  sooner  touch 
my  lips  to  red-hot  iron  than  to  anything  bear- 
ing her  name!" 

She  literally  hissed  the  words  out  througli 
her  set  teeth,  without  raising  her  voice  ;  and 
casting  one  parting  look  with  the  same  wolfish 
eyes  on  the  smiling  block  of  stone,  she  hurried 
on  through  the  park*gatcs,  and  into  the  cottage, 
just  as  the  lost  little  pink  cloud  of  sunset  was 
dipping  and  fading  behind  the  distant  hills. 

The  cottage  looked  disorderly  and  uncomfort- 
able as  usual,  with  piles  of  nets  and  oars,  and 
fish-baskets  and  oil-cloth  garments  scattered  in 
the  corners,  and  chairs  and  tables  at  sixfs  and 
sevens,  and  perfumed  with  an  anciciit  and  fish- 
lika  smell.  A  wood-fire  burned  on  tho  hearth, 
and  the  green  wood  did  not  mend  matters  by 
vomiting  ptiffs  of  smoke,  and  the  kettle  on  the 
crane  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  boil  sometime  be- 
fore midnight. 

In  a  olmir  in  tho  chimney-corner,  smoking  se- 
renely, sat  Mr.  Peter  Black,  his  hands  in  his 
Sockets,  his  bat  on  his  head.,  and  his  eyes  on  the 
re ;  and  Barbara,  entering,  a  spotless  and 
shining  vision,  made  him  look  up.  Mr.  Black 
did  more  than  look  up— he  stared,  with  his  eyes 
open  to  the  widest  possible  extent. 

'*  Good  Lord !"  said  Mr.  Black,  still  staring, 
in  the  utmost  consternation,  "  whatever  is  the 
motter  with  the  girl  ?" 

Barbara  took  a  long  drink  of  water,  and  then/ 
coming  over,  rested  her  arm  on  the  mantel,  and^ 
faced  him  with  perfect  cumposure.  ) 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CABTLE  CLIFFE. 


T.-? 


tho  tall  rank 
i  tboin  Mid« 
10  arid  marth 
g  from  a  rock 
ar  and  bright 
langing  fern* 
Bott  -  njrapli 
ttle  drinking* 
ing  from  the 

raiaiug  it  to 

*  tho  carved 

''ictoria  Shir* 

id  siieli  wero 


ler^liatening 
id  dashed  the 
ethat  itshiv- 
ouaand  frag- 

ng  face  wero 
very  trace  of 
>ack,  liideovui 
he  said,  look- 
e  atone  fuoes 
;y  little  devil  I 
of  her  atone 
9  she  etanda ! 
on  than  any- 
sooner  touch 
uy thing  bear- 

I  out  througli 
:r  voice  ;  and 

same  wolfish 
s,  she  hurried 
bo  the  cottage, 
of  sunset  wna 
tant  hills, 
nd  uucunaforU 
lud  oara,  and 
9  scattered  in 

at  Bix«-a  and 
liciit  and  lish- 
1)  tho  hearth, 
d  matters  by 

kettle  on  the 
sometime  be- 

r,  smoking se* 
hands  in  hia 
lis  eyes  on  the 
spotless  and 
>.  Mr.  Black 
,  with  hia  eyes 

still  staring, 
nlever  is  the 

iter,  and  tlietui 
e  aiantel,  aodi 


•«  Whot  to  It,  father  T" 

**  What  the  foul  fiend  is  the  matter  with 
fon  f  You  look  as  though  you  bad  been  dead 
k  week." 

"Am  I  pale t" 

"Pale?  It's  quite  horrible,  I  tell  you.  Ilavo 
you  aeon  a  ghost  V 

*«  Yea,  father." 

Mr.  Black's  jaw  dropped  to  suddenly  at  this 
BTiDounoeraent,  and  bis  eyes  opened  so  wide, 
that  there  aeemed  atrong  danger  of  their  ever 
being  able  to  regain  tlieir  natural  poaitlon 
again. 

"  What— what's  that  you  said  V" 

"  That  I  had  seen  a  gliost,  father — the  ghost 
of  truth  and  honor  forever  dead  !'* 

Before  Mr.  Black  could  frame  an  answer  to 
this  speech,  which  was  to  him  Greek  or  tlierea- 
abouts,  tho  door  opened,  and  oil  Judith,  attir- 
ed in  promenade  costume — thut  is,  a  faded  scar* 
let  cloak,  with  a  hood  thrown  over  her  head — en- 
tered. Now,  Judith's  promenading  at  all  be- 
yond thrco  yards  of  her  own  threshold  was  so 
very  unusual  and  striking  a  circumstance,  thnt 
Barbara  turned  to  look  at  her,  and  Mr.  Black 
actually  took  tiie  pipe  from  his  lips,  nud  stared, 
if  posmblo,  harder  than  ever. 

"  Why,  grandmother,"  said  Barbara,  "  where 
have  yo"i  been  V" 

The  old  Woman  threw  back  the  hood  of  her 
cloak,  and  slioMcd  an  animated  and  Bpri(;btly 
countenance  assho  drew  up  her  chair  and  held 
out  her  hands,  with  a  shiver,  to  the  blaze. 

"Ah!"'  s:»iil  Mr.  Black,  still  holding  his  pipe, 
and  still  starint,',  "  that'n  just  what  I  should  kke 
to  know.     Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"Up  to  Cliftonlen,.to  bo  sure,"  said  Judith, 
with  a  low,  dry,  cackling  laugli,  and  a  sly  look 
out  of  her  eye^,  first  at  her  granddaughter  and 
then  at  her  son.  "  Everybody  went,  and  why 
conldn't  I  go  among  tho  rest?" 

Mr.  Black  gave  vent  to  his  suppressed  feel- 
ings in  a  deeply  bass  oath,  and  Barbara  stood 
looking  at  her  steadily  out  of  her  great  dark 
eyes. 

Old  Judith  cackled  again,  and  rubbed  her 
hands. 

"It  was  a  fine  sight  I  a  grand  sight!  a  brave 
sight!— tiner  than  anything  even  at  the  thea- 
tre! There  were  tho  arches  with  l>cr  namo  on 
'era ;  and  flags  a  flying ;  and  flowers  all  along 
the  road  for  her  wheels  to  go  over ;  and  there 
were  four  shining  horses  all  covered  with  siiver, 
holding  up  their  heads  as  if  they  were  proud  of 
her,  and  walking  on  the  flowers  as  if  they  scorn- 
ed them  and  the  comraon-lblks  who  threw  them  ; 
and  there  was  she,  among  all  the  gnind  ladies 
and  goMl  lemen.  with  her  silk  dreis  rustling,  and 
her  eyes  like  blue  stars,  and  her  cheeks  like 
pink  velvet,  and  her  smile  like— ah!  like  an 
angel !— and  she  a  flinging  of  handfulsof  silver 
among  the  charity-children,  as  if  it  was  dirt, 


Across  Bat    .la 
sudden    cririfc,>A 
Lara's  eyes     ere  i 
clutcliod  *' 
hand  like  , 


and  ahc  despised  it.    Ah  I  she  is  a  great  lady— 
a  great  lady— «  great  lady  1" 

Old  Judith  rubbed  iier  liands  so  hard  that 
there  aeemed  some  danger  of  her  flaying  them, 
and  looked  alternately  at  iier  son  and  grand* 
daughter,  with  a  glance  of  such  mingled  ahy* 
ness,  cunning,  and  exultation,  that  the  gentle* 
man  sot  exasperated. 

*'  Wbitt  in  blazes!"  inquired  Mr.  Blnck,  put- 
tbg  it  tcm|ieratc'iy,  "is  tliu  bl'ssed  old  tJure* 
crow  a  talking  of!  Slio  can't  have  been  dr-.  k- 
ing,  can  she  V"  Tliou^h  the  adjective  Mr.  L  )k 
used  was  not  exactly  "  blessed",  and  ihot^ul:  'ne 
look  with  which  he  favored  his  tender  j^  'ent 
was  not  the  blandest,  yet  old  Judith  cnoklou  uer 
shrill  laugh  again,  and  diving  one  skinny  arm 
into  the  grensy  depths  of  a  pocKet  by  her  side, 
fished  up  a  iiandful  of  silver  coins. 

"  Look  at  them!"  cried  the  old  lady,  thruat- 
ing  I  hem  very  near  Mr.  Black's  nose,  with  an 
exultant  gleam  in  her  gre<Miish  bkick  eyes. 
"  Look  at  them !  She  saw  mo  sitting  by  the 
roadside,  and  she  threw  them  to  me  as  she  rode 
past,  and  asked  for  Barbara.  Stop — keep  off— 
ii'sminol  civ     io  my  money,  Barbara!' 

vhite  face  there  had  shot  a 
<i&k,  and  in  each  of  Bar 
leaped  a  demon.  Slio  had 
tii  any  arm  of  the  old  woman  in  a 
..U;  ttud  wrenched  tho  money  from 
her  avnriijioa  .ilu'oh,  and  dashed  it  with  all  her 
might  tl'  ougli  the  window,  amashing  tlic  glass 
as  it  w«  Tlion,  without  a  word,  uhe  resumed 
her  plact.  At  Line  mantel ;  but  father  and  grand- 
mother sprang  to  their  feet,  the  one  with  a  sav- 
age oath,  the  other  with  a  shrill  and  angry 
scream. 

"  What's  all  this  for?"  demanded  Mr.  Black, 
looking  fiercely  at  hia  unmovablo  daughter. 
"  What  the  devil  has  got  into  tlio  .i;irl  ?" 

She  looked  at  !iim  wiih  a  quiet  eye. 

"  You've  said  it,  fati>er — the  devil !" 

"  My  mon«'y  is  gone  i  nil  ray  mono  v  2"  whined 
old  Judith,  who  stood  in  morUil  dread  of  her 
tameless  granddaughter.  "  All  my  money,  nnd 
there  was  three  crowns,  two  lialfcrowns,  and  a 
fi'penny  bit  I  And  she  gave  it  to  me,  too,  all 
for  myself— the  pretty  young  lady  !'* 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for,  you—".  Mr.  Black 
paused  with  the  epithet  on  his  tongue,  for  some- 
thing like  the  savage  light  in  his  own  eyes  shone 
in  his  daughter's,  and  warned  him  that  it  would 
bo  safur  unsaid. 

"  That's  not  much  !"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
with  a  atrange  laugh.  "  What  would  you  aay 
if  I  murdered  aomebody  aud  was  goiug  to  be 
hanged  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  girl's  gone  mad !  stark,  staring 
mad'."  said  Mr.  Black,  staring  again,  until  his 
eyes  seemed  starting  from  their  sooltets. 

"  No,  filth'  r." 

"Curse  it,  then!"  he  cried,  ferociously. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  looking  aud  acting  like 


i 


76 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


this?    Stop  glowering  on  mo  like  that,  or  DI 
■mash  in  your  face  for  yoa  m  I  would  tmaib  an 
,  shell  r 

'Anil  this  is  tny  father!"  said  Barbara,  with 
the  same  wild  laugii ;  and  turning  toward  the 
door,  "  Don't  try  ft,  father,  it  would  nut  be  safe. 
Good  evuiiiiig  to  you  both." 

She  wnikvJ  rapidly  out  and  down  to  the 
shore,  with  a  step  that  rang  like  steel  on  the 
rocks.  A  slender  new  moon  was  rising  away  in 
the  ens  ,  and  its  radiance  silvered  the  waves  and 
lighted  the  long,  witite,  sandy  beach,  and  black 
piles  of  8cn-wcody  rocks  above  them.  The  tide 
was  far  out,  and  Barbara  strode  over  the  wet 
shingles  and  slippery  sea-wccd,  heeding  them 
no  more  than  if  sue  were  gliding  over  a  moonlit 
lawn,  and  never  stopped  until  she  found  herielf 
within  the  gloomy  precinots  of  the  Demon's 
Tower.  Th^n  she  glanced  round  with  a  look 
the  arch  fiend  himself  might  have  envied. 

"  Here,  six  years  ogo,  I  saved  her  life,"  she 
•aid.  "O  beintiful  htiresa  of  Castle  Cliffe  1 
if  that  hour  would  only  come  back,  and  I  were 
looking  down  on  your  dying  struggles,  as  I 
eonld  liftvc  done  that  night." 

She  loaned  against  the  dark  archway,  and 
looked  over  the  rocks.  The  scene  was  placid 
and  serene ;  the  waves  murmured  low  on  the 
•ands  ;  the  boats  glided  over  the  silver  shining 
waters,  ami  a  gay  party  of  fishermen's  girls, 
their  bont  floating  idly  on  the  long,  lazy  swell, 
were  singing  the  "  Evening  Hymn  to  the  Vir- 
gin",  and  the  words  came  clear  and  sweet  to 
where  she  stood. 

"  Ave  sanctlRsIuta ! 

Wo  lift  our  souls  to  thee, 
Ora  pro  nobis, 

'Tis  nightfall  on  tho  sea. 
Watch  us  nrhile  8hP(ioiri  lie 

Far  o'er  the  waters  spread, 
'  Hear  the  heart's  lonely  sigh. 

Thine,  too,  hath  bled. 
Thou  that  ha^it  looked  on  death 

And  us,  when  death  is  near, 
Whisper  of  Heaven  to  faith. 

Sweet  mother,  iwcet  mother,  hear. 
Ora  pro  nobis. 

The  waves  must  rock  oar  sleep  ; 
Ora,  mater,  ora, 

Bright  star  of  the  deep. 

It  wns  no  whisper  of  Heaven  that  changed 
Barbara's  face  su  strongly  ns  she  listened.  Her 
bent  brow  grew  rigid  and  stern,  her  eye  dark- 
ened with  ileftdly  resolve,  her  lips  compressed 
with  resolnfc  deturminiition,  her  hands  clenched 
until  the  nnils  sunk  into  the  rosy  flesh,  and 
her  very  figure  seemed  to  dilate  and  grow  tail 
with  the  deadliest  resolve  new  born  within  her. 

♦'Barbara!'*  A  gentle  voice  behind  pro- 
nounced the  name,  but  she  never  moved  or 
turned  round.  "  Barbara,  my  dear  girl,  what 
•re  you  doing  here  alone  in  this  place,  and  at 
thlsliour?" 

"  Thinking,  Mr.  Sweet." 

Mr.  Sweet,  shining  with  subdued  yellow  Ins* 
IN  in  th«  white  moonlight,  got  over  the  rooks 


with  a  face  fall  of  concern,  and  stood  beside  her. 

'*  And  your  bands,  Barbara— what  ails  tbemf 
they  are  ail  bleeding." 

She  had  out  tliem  while  ooming  over  tke 
rooks,  without  ever  knowing  it;  and  now  she 
looked  down  at  the  flowing  olood  with  an  icy 
smile. 

"  It  is  nothing.  I  have  been  bleeding  in- 
wardly for  the  last  two  or  three  hours,  so  I  am 
not  likely  to  mind  such  a  trifle  as  torn  hands." 

"  Poor  little  hands  I"  suid  Mr.  Hweet,  tender- 
ly, as  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  b(*gaa 
wiping  >iway  the  blood.  "  My  dear,  dear  Bar- 
bara, what  is  tho  meaning  of  all  this?" 

"  Your  dear  Barbara  I  How  many  have  you 
called  dear,  besides  me,  to-day,  Mr.  Sweet  V 

"  No  one ;  you  alone  are  dear  to  me,  Bar^ 
bara." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure  1  Men  always  say  that,  and 
always  mean  it,  and  always  are  true.  I  beUeve 
yon,  of  course." 

"  How  bitter  yon  are  I" 

"  Not  at  all  1  Broken  vows  and  broken  hearts 
are  such  everyday  matters,  that  it  is  hardly 
worth  while  erowing  bitter  over  them." 


"  Sol"  said  the  lawyer,  looking  at  her  stead- 
ily.   ♦'  So  you've  heard  all  ?" 
"  Everytliing,  Mr.  Sveet." 
"Who  told  your 

"A  little  bird;  or,  oerhaps,  I  dreamed  it? 
Is  it  such  n  mysterv,  then,  that  Miss  Shirley 
and  Mr.  Cliffe  are  to  be  man  and  wife?" 

"  It  is  a  fact,  but  it  is  also  a  secret.  Lady 
Agnes  told  me  ae  soon  as  she  arrived  ;  but  she 
also  told  me  no  one  knew  it  here  but  myself. 
Where  can  you  have  heard  it,  Barbara?" 

"  WouM  you  like  to  know?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  quito  romantic !  I  dressed  myself,  ns 
you  see,  to  meet  my  love ;  for  I  beg  to  inform 
you  thnt  the  heir  of  Cliffewood  and  the  fisher- 
man's daughter  were  er^aged.  He  came,  but 
not  olone,  to  the  trystiiig-place — Miss  Shirley 
was  with  him,  and  tliey  had  quite  an  nnirauted 
talk  over  their  approaching  nuptials.  Somo 
initiols  were  out  upon  a  tree,  his  and  mine,  and 
it  wns  his  h.md  carved  them,  but  I  hoard  him 
deny  it,  with  as  much  composure  as  nny  vulgar 
lior  who  never  had  an  ancestor  in  the  world." 

"Barbara,  how  strnngelv  you  talk,  and  how 
wild  you  look !  Vour  hand  is  like  ice  ;  yon  ore 
ill !"  lie  said,  really  alarmed. 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  Mr.  Sweet!  I  am 
|)erfectly  well !" 

"  May  I  talk  to  you,  then  ?  Will  you  listen 
to  what  I  have  to  say  ?" 

"  With  all  the  pleasare  in  life." 

"Will  vou  answer  my  questions?'* 

"  Begin  ?'» 

•'  You  love  Leieester  Cliffe  ?" 

"  Yts." 

"  He  »aid  he  loved  you  ?" 

"He  did." 


answer< 
"No 
it  do?" 
"On 
morrov 
next  Ti 
ing  be 
Think 
"  Hoi 
"  Hel 
have  oi 
ther  01 
selves.  I 
it  will 
you 
•nothcj 


oA  betide  ber. 
i«t  ailt  tbemf 

ing  over  tWe 

aod  nuw  abe 

cl  with  an  icy 

bleeding  in- 
loun,  BO  I  am 
torn  banda." 
Hweet,  tender- 
ief  and  bttgan 
Bar,  dear  Kor- 

laiiy  bave  yoa 
r.  Sweet?" 
r  to  me,  Bar^ 

say  that,  and 
ue.    I  believe 


broken  hearts 
it  is  hardly 

ibera." 
at  her  stead- 


dreamed  it? 
i  Mies  Sbirley 
wife?" 

seoret.  Lady 
rived ;  but  slie 
re  but  myself. 
rbara?" 


ised  myself,  as 

beg  to  inform 
ind  the  fisber- 

Uo  oamc,  bat 
— Miss  Sbirley 
be  an  nnirauted 
uptiftls.     Somo 

and  mine,  and 
it  I  bciird  him 
!  OS  ftiiy  vulgar 
n  the  world." 

talk,  and  bow 
e  ice  ;  you  are 

.  Sweet!    I  am 

Will  you  listen 

It 
ns?" 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


77 


••  He  promised  to  marry  yoa  V* 

••  Do  you  love  him  still!" 

**  Jnst  at  present,  very  mnob." 

"  You  know  be  is  to  be  married  to  Mlis  Shir- 
ley in  two  weeks?" 

"I  think  I  bad  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him- 
self mention  tbo  fuot." 

*'  You  know  that  you  have  been  slighted, 
■eorned,  jiltttd,  oast  off  for  her  ?" 

"  I  don't  need  yoa  to  remind  me  of  that,  my 
good  friend." 

**  You  are  a  woman.  Slighted  women,  they 
say,  never  forgive  t  Barbara,  would  you  be  re- 
venged  ?" 

"  Snob  is  my  intention,  Mr.  Sweet" 

There  was  such  deadly  intensity  of  purpose, 
in  her  very  quietude,  as  she  said  it,  that  it 
ohilled  oven  Mr.  Sweet  for  an  instant — albeit, 
lawyers'  blood  does  not  easily  run  cold. 

*■  How  ?"  be  asked,  looking  at  her  earnestly. 

''That  is  my  affair,  sir!" 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  of  a  speedy  revenue,  that 
he  will  feel,  as  you  oaa  make  him  feel,  no 
other?" 

•*  You  may." 

"  A  revenge !"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  his  very  voice 
trembling  with  eagerness  —  "a  revenue  that 
will  pierce  bis  heart,  like  an  arrow  from  its 
shaft — a  revenge  tliat  will  make  him  feel  that 
he  is  the  jilted  one,  and  not  you  ?" 

"Name  it?" 

'*  Marry  me  I" 

"  Bnh  1"  Raid  she,  looking  down  on  him  with 
her  scornful  eyt-s.  "  As  if  ho  could  not  see 
tbrougii  do  pitii'ul  a  sham  as  that.  How  reason- 
able it  would  look,  that  I  would  forsake  tbo  heir 
of  Clifftiwood,  the  handsomest  man  in  Sussex, 
for  a  poor,  paltry  nttornoy,  old  cnougli  to  bo  ray 
fiitber,  and  wiio  was,  cortainly,  bcliiud  the  door 
when  beauty  was  given  out!" 

The  sallow  face  of  the  lawyer  turned  actually- 
scarlet  for  ono  moment ;  but  the  next,  bo  laugh- 
ed, bis  g!iy  and  musical  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  don't  set  up  for  a  beauty,  Barbara, 
and  you  know  Mudatno  Do  Statil  sava  men  have 
tlio  privilege  of  looking  ugly  !  You  have  not 
answered  my  question.     Will  you  marry  mo  ?'' 

"  No !'  she  said,  coldly.  "  What  good  would 
it  do  ?" 

"  Only  this.  The  young  gentLiian  leaves  to- 
morrow for  London,  and  will  not  r«'turn  until 
next  Tuesday.  As  he  returns,  let  bis  first  greet- 
ing be  tbo  news  that  Barbara  Black  is  married  ! 
Think  bow  ho  will  feel  tbot?" 

"  Ho  will  not  care." 

"  He  will.  Men  never  liUe  the  women  who 
have  once  loved  them  to  marry  another,  whe- 
ther or  not  they  bave  ceased  to  love  ber  them- 
selves. He  never  loved  you,  that  is  plain  ;  but 
it  will  cut  him  to  the  quick,  nevertheless,  to  find 
you  oare  ao  little  for  him  as  to  be  tbo  bride  of 
•aothcrl** 


**  If  I  tboaght  he  would  care  t"  said  Darb«r«s 
breathing  quick. 

"Ho  would  oare.  And  if  he  ever  bad  the 
smallest  spark  of  love  for  you.  it  will  spring 
into  a  flame  tbo  moment  be  tinJs  b«  bos  lust 
you  forever!  Think  what  a  triumph  it  would 
be  for  him  to  boar  off  bis  Iwautiful  bride  it> 
triumph,  while  he  fanoioil  you  were  pining  here 
like  a  love- lorn  damsel,  fit  to  cry  your  eyes  out 
for  bis  sweet  sakel" 

Her  eye  was  kindling,  ber  cheek  flashing,  her 
breath  coming  quick  and  fust,  but  she  did  not 
•peak. 

"  You  shall  be  a  lady,  too,  Barbara  I '  said  the 
phlegmatic  Mr.  Swoet,  kindling,  for  once,  into 
something  like  excitement.  "You  shall  hold 
up  your  head  with  the  highest  in  the  land — yea, 
higher  th  m  she  has  ever  held  hers,  with  its  yeU 
low  curls !  You  shall  be  a  lady,  Barbara ;  yes, 
I  swear  it  I" 

Barbara  laughed,  something  like  Ver  old 
laugh. 

'*  You  are  simply  talking  nonsense,  Mr.  Sweet, 
neither  you  nor  anybody  else  can  change  me 
from  whnt  Ood  made  me — a  tisberman's  daugh- 
terr 

*•  You  were  never  made  a  fisherman's  daugh- 
ter I"  he  said  energetically,  and  tiien  be  ntopped 
and  knit  bis  brows,  and  changed  bis  tone. 
"  But,  Barl)ara,  if  you  wont  revenge,  marry 
mo !  I  am  a  rich  man,  and  Mrs.  Leicester 
Cliffe  will  not  long  look  down  on  Mrs.  Leicester 
Sweet,  depend  on  that." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  am  not  quite  so 
bad  as  to  take  you  at  your  word  ;  for,  rest  as- 
sured, if  you  married  mo  you  would  repent  it, 
in  mental  sac  cc loth  aud  ashes,  uli  the  rest  of 
your  lifo!" 

"I  will  risk  it!"  he  said,  with  an  inoreduloua 
smile.     "  Only  consent."  *• 

"  If  I  do,  you  will  repent  1" 

"  No." 

*'  I  bave  no  love  for  you.  I  cannot  answer 
for  myself.  It  shall  never  bo  said  that  I  en- 
trapped you  or  any  one  else  into  u  marriage,  for 
my  own  ends.  Nothing  but  evil  can  eome  from 
a  connexion  with  mo.  I  am  not  good  ;  and  so  I 
tell  you!" 

"  Yoa  are  good  enough  lor  me,  for  I  love 
you." 

'♦  You  will  have  it,  I  sec.  Remember,  if  I 
consent,  and  you  repent  of  it  afterward,  you 
have  been  warned." 

"  I  take  all  the  risk,  so  that  I  can  take  you 
with  it!" 

"  Very  well  then,  Mr.  Sweet !"  she  said  quiet> 
ly.    "  I  will  marry  you  whenever  you  like  I" 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
BARBJlRA'S  bbidal  ivi. 
"  Where  is  Barbara  ?" 

Mr.  Sweet  was  the  speaker,  and  Mr.  Sweek 
was  leaning  in  Barbara^s  favorite  ^   sition  ooj 


i 


78 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


tlie  mnntfl,  Itonling  nn  impAlient  tnttoo  on  its 
•raoky  leilge,  uiiil  looking  down  un  v\A  Jutlitli, 
who  sat  VM-y  hIt'ftr-eyctT  nnd  very  gi'imy  with 
■mokv,  on  iiur  creepy  on  tli«  henrth.  Urenkfast 
WAS  juit  over  in  lli«  cottage,  fur  n  quantity  uf 
very  iloppy  earthcn-waru  iitreweii  tliu  wuuJen 

"Where  is  Bnrbarn?"  ropeated  Mr.  Swoct,  n« 
Judith's  only  reply  was  tu  blink  und  look  at 
him  with  a  'oute  smile. 

"  In  her  own  room  I     Ah  t  you've  done  it  at 
liisf.  Sir !" 
•*  Done  what  ?" 

"  What  you  always  said  yon  would  do— make 
her  marry  you." 

"  She  hasn't  married  me  yet,  that  I  know  of." 
"  No,  Sir  ;  no.  of  course  not ;  but  she's  com- 
iog  to  it — oomins  to  it  fas^" 
"How  do  you  know?" 

"Mr.  Sweet,  I  ain't  blind,  though  my  old 
eyes  are  red  and  watery  with  smoku,  and  I  saw 
you  coming  up  from  the  beach  lust  nii^ht,  and 
ah  I  you  was  sweet  upon  her,  yuu  was,  Mr. 
Sweet !" 
"  Well  ?" 

To  this  Query  Old  Judith  only  grinned  in 
answer;  ana  Mr.  Sweet  relaxed  into  a  smile 
himself. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  he,  pulling  out 
his  watch  and  glancing  at  it.  "  She  has  prom- 
ised to  marry  me." 

"I  always  knew  it !"  cried  Judith,  rubbing 
her  hands  in  glee — "  I  always  said  it !  Nobo<ly 
could  ever  hold  out  long  against  you.  Mr. 
Sweet,  you  have  the  winningest  ways  witli  yon  ! 
Ah  I  she  has  come  to  luck,  has  my  hand- 
some granddaughter!" 

"  It  is  a  pity  your  handoome  granddnuprhtor 
is  not  of  the  same  opinion  as  her  aniiablv  grand- 
mother.    When  can  I  see  her  ?" 

"  Directly,  sir.     I  will  go  and  tell  her ;  but 
first — it's  no  use  askinir  her,  for  she  never  tells 
me  anything — when  is  it  going  to  be  ?" 
"  Wlien  is  what  going  to  be  y" 
"The  wedding." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  want  to  know. 
That  is  why  1  have  made  such  an  early  call  on 
your  handsiime  granddanghter  this  morning." 
"  Didn't  you  settle  it  last  niglitV  " 
"  No.  She  told  me  she  would  marry  me 
whenever  I  liked  ;  and  then  she  turned  and  was 
gone  like  a  flash  before  we  could  come  tu  any 
further  terms." 

"That  is  just  like  her!"  snid  old  Jnditb,  no 
way  astonished  at  this  cimracteristic  trait,  as  she 
walked  across  the  mom  and  ropped  at  her  grand- 
daughter's door.  There  was  no  answer;  and 
she  knocked  again,  and  still  there  was  no  reply. 
Judith  turned  tUe  handle  of  the  door,  which 
opened  readily ;  and  she  entered,  while  Mr. 
Sweet,  a  little  startled,  stood  on  the  threshold 
and  looked  in. 
Barbara's  room  was  small,  and  not  at  all  the 


immaculate  apnrtniint  the  heroine's  of  a  s'ory 
stiould  be  ;  fur  dreaovtf,  and  manlles,  and  bonnets, 
and  all  sorts  of  wt-aring  apparel  were  hung 
round  the  walls;  and  tlieru  were  two  or  three 
)airM  of  gaiter-boots  strewn  over  the  floor,  with 
loki*,  and  papent,  an«I  mngnzines  ;  and  the  table 
in  the  corner  was  one  great  litter  of  sketolus 
and  engravings,  and   novels,  and  pnintim;  ina- 


L',' 


terinis,  and  a  guitar  (Mr.  Sweet's  gift)  on  the  top 
of  all.  There  was  a  little  easel  in  one  corner, 
for  Barbara  was  quite  an  artist ;  and  this,  with 
the  small  bed  and  one  chair,  quite  filled  the  little 
clwimber,  so  that  there  was  scarcely  room  to 
move.  But  the  bed  was  neatly  made — evident- 
ly it  had  not  been  slept  in  the  pi  eceding  night , 
and  sitting  on  the  solitary  chair  at  the  window, 
in  the  gauzy-white  dress  ot  the  preceding  evening, 
her  arms  resting  on  the  ledge,  her  head  on 
them,  was  Barbara,  fast  asleep.  The  exclama- 
tion of  Judith  at  the  sight  awoke  her  ;  and  she 
lilted  her  face,  and  ]o<)Ked  at  them  vaguely  at 
Hrnt,  as  if  wondering  how  rhe  and  they  came  to 
be  where  they  were.  It  all  came  back  to  her 
in  a  moment,  however ;  and  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
gatliei'ing  up  the  fallen  braids  of  her  hair,  and 
looking  at  Mr.  Sweet  with  a  haughty  eve. 

"  Well,  Sir,"  she  demanded,  angrily,  "  and 
what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"It  wasn't  his  fault,"  cut  in  Judith.  ••! 
rapped  twice,  and  you  never  answeiv.l,  and  I 
thought  something  had  happened,  und  1  asked 
him  to  come  in." 

This  last  little  fiction  being  invented  to 
avert  the  storm  of  wrath  that  was  kindling  in 
Barbara's  fiery  eve. 

"  Well,  Sir,"  reiterated  Miss  Barbara,  still 
transfixing  her  disconcerted  suitor  with  her 
steady  glance,  "  and  being  here,  what  do  yon 
wanty" 

This  was  certainly  not  very  encouraging,  nnJ 
by  no  means  smoothed  the  way  for  bo  ardent  n 
a  lover  to  ask  his  lady-love  to  name  the  day 
So  Mr.  Sweet  began  in  a  very  huuiblo  and  sub- 
dued tone  indeed  : 

"I  am  very  sorry.  Miss  Barbara,  for  this  in- 
trusion ;  but  surely  you  have  not  been  siLlin;,' 
by  that  window,  exposed  to  the  draft  all  night  V" 
"  Have  yon  come  all  the  way  from  Cliltonlcft, 
and  taken  the  trouble  to  wake  me  up  to  say 
that.,  Mr.  Sweet?" 

Mr.  Sweet  thought  of  the  plastic  Barbara  he 
had  had  last  nigiit,  and  wondered  where  she 
had  gone  to.  Mr.  Sweet  did  not  know,  perhaps, 
that 

"  Colors  seen  by  candlelight 
Do  not  look  the  same  by  day  ," 

and  women,  being  like  weathercocks  or  cliame* 
Icons,  are  liable  to  change  sixty  times  an  'hour. 

" Barbara,"  he  cried  in  de8|urnitoii,  *•  have 
you  forgotten  your  promise  of  lii»t  niglit?" 

"  No !" 

'*  It  is  on  that  subject  ,that  I  came  to  speak 
Can  I  not  see  you  for  a  moment  alone  V 


THE  IIEIRESB  OF  CABTLE  CLIFFE. 


I  of  «  »'ory 
An\  bt)nii«'U, 

wo  or  three 
e  flour,  with 
lui  the  lahl« 

of  BketclK* 
nii>tini(  niii- 
t)  oil  tl>«  top 

on«  corner, 
nd  thin,  with 
lied  the  little 
ely  room  to 
,de — evidtnt- 
sedingniglit, 

the  wiiuluw, 
ding  evening. 
Iter  hend  on 
rhe  fxolamn- 
her  \  and  she 
m  vftguelyak 

they  came  to 
)  back  to  her 
186  to  her  feet, 

her  hair,  and 
ity  eye. 
ingriiy.   "and 

Judith.  -I 
iswer«-'l,  and  I 
id,  ttuii  i  oukcil 

invented   to 
ras  kindling  in 

Barbara,  still 
litor  with  her 
>,  what  do  jou 

icouraging,  nnJ 

for  BO  anient  n 

imino  the  (li»y 

uuiblo  and  sub- 

rtra.  for  this  in- 
nut  been  sittin;; 
iiftftall  night K" 
from  Ciiltonlfft, 
e  lue   ui)  to  s;iy 

ftstio  Bar\)ara  he 
icred  where  she 
t  know,  perhaps, 

hi 

day," 

pcooks  or  chame- 
V  titnfs  an  ^hour 
|,».iuiioi«.  -hive 
ln»t  niglif?" 


1  came  to  speat 
int  alone  V 


"There  i*  not  the  ■lightest  n<>cd,  Sir.  If  you 
have  anything  to  say,  out  with  it  I" 

For  oitne  in  hi«  liie,  the  oily  and  debonair  Mr. 
Sweet  wan  totally  disconoertel.  "  Not  at  homo 
to  suitors"  was  writttid  in  capital  letters  on  Uar- 
biiru's  bent  br«)W  and  ateru  eyu  ;  yet  tbure  vth4 
notliing  for  it  but  to  go  on. 

**  Vuu  said  last  night,  Barbara,  thnt  you 
would  marry  me  whenever  I  liked !  That  would 
be  »ithin  this  hour,  if  I  oould  ;  and  aa,  perhapH, 
you  Would  not  fancy  so  rapid  a  business,  will 
yuii  please  to  name  some  more  definite  <late  f' 

He  quailed  inwardly  as  ho  spoke,  lest  she 
should  rctrnot  the  promise  of  lust  night,  nltoge> 
tluT.  lie  knew  he  held  her  only  by  a  hair,  and 
that  it  was  liablu  to  snap  at  any  moment.  Her 
face  looked  foreboding,  sunless,  smileleiiB,  and 
dark;  and  the  eye,  immovably  fixed  upon  him, 
hud  little  of  yielding  or  tendurncss  in  it. 

"  The  time  is  so  short,  Biirbura,"  he  pleaded 
with  a  sinking  heart,  "  that  it  must  be  soon." 
"  Wh'tt  do  you  mean  by  that?" 
"Within  this  present  week,  Barbara,  or   if 
that  is  too  soon,  next  Mcmday.     That  will  give 
you  time  for  your  preparations." 
"  I  have  no  preparations  to  make !" 
"  For  mine,  then.   Do  yon  consent  that  it  shall 
be  next  Monday  ?  ' 

"  Mr.  Sweet,  I  Raid  last  night  it  should  be 
whenever  you  pleased.  I  say  the  same  thing 
to-day  I  'there,  you  need  not  thank  me  ,  do  me 
tlie  favor  to  go  awny  ! ' 

"  Only  one  moment,  Barbara.  You  must 
have  dresseH,  you  know.  I  shall  give  orders  to 
tlmt  Frenohwouian  up  iu  Cliftunlea,  and  she  will 
come  down  here  to  see  you,  and  provide  you 
with  everything  you  want." 

Barbara  stood  looking  at  hiiu  stonily,  with 
tlie  door  in  her  hand.  Old  Juditii  was  glancing 
from  one  to  the  other,  with  her  keen  eyes. 

"  On  Monday  morning,  at  ten,  you  will  be 
lendy,  and  I  will  drive  down  here  and  take  you 
ti>  the  church,  and  another  thing,  you  must  have 
a  brideranid." 

"  I  bnvo  one  thing  to  say  to  you.  Sir !"  said 
Barbara,  opening  ia-r  corapressctl  lips,  "  that  if 
you  torment  me  too  much  with  these  wretched 
details,  there  shall  neither  be  bridesmaid  nor 
bride  on  that  day.  Whatever  is  to  be  done, 
you  must  do  yourself.  I  eliall  have  mother  act 
nor  part  in  this  business.  Let  me  alone  and  I 
will  marry  vou  on  Monday,  Binc«  you  wish  it. 
Begin  to  i  nrasa  me  with  this  stupid  rubish, 
about  dresses  and  bridemaids,  and  I  will  have 
Dutbing  wliHtever  to  aay  to  yon." 

With  wliich  (larsh  and  decided  valedictory, 
the  impatient  bride-elect  closed  the  door  \n 
tlieir  faces,  and  turned  the  key  insido,  to  the 
unspeakable  discomposure  of  the  lawyer,  and 
the  intense  deliglitot  the  amiable  oI<l  la.ly,  who 
grinned  maliciously,  until  a  very  yellow  blush 
in  her  sunken  jaws  was  visible. 
"  Oh,  it  is  a  charming  courtuhip,  a  charming 


eourtship  I"  she  chuckled,  rubbing  ber  hands 
and  Ittcnng  up  sideways  at  her  visrt«>r.  "  And 
she  is  a  nwwt  bride,  she  is.  1  wish  you  Joy  of 
her,  Mr.  8v»t.etl" 

"  My  good  old  soul !"  said  that  gintlemnn, 
bringing  the  vellow  lustre  of  his  eves  ami  smilo 
to  b*'ar  on  his  friend,  "  don't  be  uialioioiis. 
Don't,  or  you  and  I  will  full  out  I  Think  what 
a  pity  that  would  bf,  after  having  been  tried  and 
trusty  friends  so  long  I" 

Perhaps  it  was  at  the  bare  idea  of  losing  th« 
invaluabiu  friendship  of  no  good  a  man,  or,  per* 
iiapn,  it  was  at  some  bidder  meuiuse  in  his  tune 
anil  look,  that  made  Judith  cower  down,  and 
shrink  away  fearfully  under  his  cnim  gaze. 

"  I  expect  you  to  do  everything  in  your  pow- 
er for  me,"  he  went  on,  "  in  the  present  case. 
You  see  she  is  willful,  and  will  do  nothing  her- 
self; her  promise  is  as  frail  and  brittle  lu  glass, 
if  I  leaned  ou  it  evar  so  lightlv  it  would  shiver 
into  atoms  beneath  me,  th>'i'«h)r«  I  cannot  ven- 
ture to  s|>eak  to  her.  You  roust  act  for  her ; 
and,  my  uear  old  friend,  if  you  don't  act  to  tlit 
utmost  of  your  power,  you  will  find  yourself 
within  the  stone  walls  of  Cliftoulea  jail  b<-for« 
the  Wedding  day  dawns  I" 

"  O^t !  what  can  I  do  1"  whimpered  old  Judith, 
putting  her  dirty  apron  to  her  eyes.  "  I  das- 
sent  speak  to  her.  I'm  afraid  of  her.  Ii«r 
eyes  aru  like  cgals  of  fire  I  I  am  sure  I  want 
her  married  as  much  as  you  do.  I  never  hnv* 
any  peace  with  her  at  all!" 

"  Very  woll,  I  think  we  shall  not  fall  out.  I 
am  going  now,  and  I  will  send  my  housekee(>er 
down  here  for  one  of  ber  gowns,  and  the  Freiieli- 
woman  must  make  them  by  that,  for  Barbara 
won't  be  measured,  it  appears.  Does  my  dear 
friend,  I'eter  Black,  know  anything  about  this 

yetr 

"  No,  ho  don't" 

"  Then  I  shall  take  the  earliest  opportunity 
of  letting  him  know.  I  should  like  to  hi>ve  my 
intended  father-in-law's  blessing,  and  oil  that 
sort  of  thing.     Where  is  be?" 

"Oh,  where  he  always  is-  drinking  goes  of 
gin  and  water  at  the  ClifTe  Arms  I" 

•'  Dear  im|>rudent  boy  I     I  suppose   he  re- 

Snires  a  gentle  stimulant  to  keep  up  his  spirits, 
luod-morniug.  Mistress  Judith,  and  try  if  the 
future  Mrs.  Sweet  will  not  partake  of  some 
breakfast  ?" 

With  this  parting  piece  of  advice,  the  pleasant 
lawyer  walked  away,  drawing  on  bis  gloves  and 
humming  gayly,  the  "  Time  I  have  Lost  in  Woo- 
ing". 

Judith  did  not  take  his  advice,  however, 
regarding  the  breakfast.  She  \7ould  aluu  st  aa 
soon  have  put  her  hend  inside  of  a  lion's  den  as 
into  ibe  little  room  where  her  handsome  giund* 
dauj^liter  sat.  It  needed  no  second  light  to  sea 
that  the  (dd  worn  v  stood  in  the  g  l«et  awe  of 
the  grave,  majes  '  girl,  who  loi  at  people 
BO  strangely  and  v  ddly  out  of  her  dark,  spec      '. 


80 


DNM ASKED,  OR, 


oyci — an  awe  which,  truth  to  tell,  her  sulky  nnd 
savage  son  Bhnr<-iJ.  The  dogged  and  sullen 
ferocity  of  the  man  cowered  under  the  fiercer 
and  liiglier  spirit  of  his  daughter,  an. I  Miss 
Black,  for  t!ie  laut  two  or  three  years,  had  pret- 
ty much  i-eigned  7-tady  Paramount  in  the  cot 
tTigc.  *ho  gray  ir.are  m  that  stable  was  by  loug 
odds  the  hotter  horse  !  So  Judith  lit  her  pipe, 
and  sat  on  her  stool  by  tlio  smouMjring  fire, 
and  she  an  1  it  puffed  out  little  clouui»  of  smoke 
torrether,  and  the  big  brass  hands  if  the  old 
Dutcli  clock  went  swinging  round  to  twelve,  and 
nobudv  entered  tlie  cottage,  and  no  sound  came 
ff<Mn  ilie  little  clianibcr,  and  the  future  Mrs. 
Swcft,  got  no  brenkfaat,  when,  at  last,  a  shadow 
darkened  the  sunny  doorway,  and  a  uieek  little 
woman  presented  lu-rself,  and  clainiec  the  hoyor 
of  being  Mi\  Sweet's  housekeeper.  Lucki'ly 
there  was  a  (^•^'sa  of  Barbara's  hanging  in  the 
kitchen,  or  Judith  would  have  been  between  the 
horns  of  a  very  sad  dilemma,  in  fear  of  the 
lawver  on  one  hand,  and  the  young  lady  on  the 
other ;  and  the  meek  little  matron  rolled  it  up, 
and  ha8t<^ned  off  to  the  French  modiste  up  m 
the  town. 

That  .Tds  Wednesday  ,  and  as  there  were 
only  three  working  tlays  between  him  and  his 
bnual  morning,  Mr.  Sweet  seemed  in  a  fair  way 
to  have  his  liands  full.  There  was  a  long  talk 
to  be  had  in  the  first  place  with  that  dear  boy, 
Peter  Black,  who  swore  a  great  many  oaths  un- 
der his  unkempt  beari,  ami  couldn't  be  brought 
to  see  reason  until  Mr.  Sweet  had  smiled  a 
grt;at  deal,  and  referred  severaF  times  to  Mr. 
Jack  Wildma.i,  and  finally  ordered  another 
gu  of  gin  and  water  for  his  future  parent  in- 
law, Hiui  c1a|iped  him  on  the  back  :ind  slipped 
two  guineas  irto  liis  horny  palm.  Then  Mr. 
Black  growled  out  his  paternal  a.sseiit,  and 
scowled  like  ii  tii>8y  tiger  on  his  new  son,  who 
only  laughed  good-natured  13-,  and  patling  hiru 
on  the  back  again,  walked  awa}*. 

Then  he  had  to  visit  Madame  ModiHre,  the 
fashionable  dressmak-  r,  who  came  in  smiling 
and  dip|iing,  and  with  whom  he  held  another 
consultation,  ami  filled  out  a  blank  eheqie,  ami 
obtained  a  promise  that  everything  should  be 
ready  on  Saturday  night 

There  were  a  thousand  and  one  other  little 
things  to  ilo,  for  getting  married  is  a  very 
fus.^y  piece  of  business  ;  but  the  Cliftonlea  law- 
yer wa.s  equal  to  matrimony  or  any  other  emor- 
genc}'.  and  everything  bade  fair  to  come  off 
swiniiningl}'. 

Lady  Agnes  Shirley  had  to  be  informed  the 
next  day.  .'or  he  wanted  leave  of  absen^-e  for 
two  or  threi  davs,  to  make  a  short  brid.il-tour 
to  London  iind  back';  and  Lady  Agnes,  with  as 
mud)  langttid  amaze  as  any  lady  in  her  position 
I  could  be  ej  pectcd  to  get  up,  gave  him  carte 

•  hlanchc  ,to  fctay  a  month,  if  he  pleased.     Then 
there  was  the  license  and  ring  to  procure,  and 

•  the  woddiag-breakfast  to  order,  and  some  pres- 


enta  of  jewelry  to  mab;  to  his  bride,  and  new 
furniture  to  get  for  his  house,  and  the  short  week 
went;  and  only  he  was  so  impatient  to  make 
sure  of  his  bri<le,  Mr.  Sweet  could  have  wished 
every  day  forty-eight  hours  long,  and  then 
found  them  too  short  for  all  he  had  to  do. 

But  if  the  bridgroom  was  busy  from  day- 
dawn  to  midnight,  the  bride  made  up  for  it  by 
doing  nothing  whatever  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
unless  sitting  listlessly  by  the  window,  with 
her  hands  folded,  could  be  called  doing  some- 
thing. All  the  restlessness,  all  the  fire,  all  the 
energy  of  her  nature  seemed  to  have  gone  like 
a  dream  ;  and  she  sat  all  day  long  looking  out 
with  dull,  dread  eyes  over  the  misty  marshes  and 
the  ceaseless  sea.  She  scarcely  ate  ;  she  scarce- 
ly slept  at  all;  she  turned  her  listless  ejes 
witliout  pleasure  o"  interest  ou  the  pretty 
dresses  and  jewels,  the  flowers  and  fruit,  her 
friends  daily  brought,  :.nJ  then  turned  awav 
again,  as  if  they  had  merely  siruck  on  the  nervo 
o;  vision  without  conveying  the  slightest  idea 
to  her  mind.  Thursday,  Friday,  and  Satur- 
day, she  passed  1  a  dull  dream — the  lull  that 
{^recedes  the  tempest.  But  when  Sunday  came, 
ler  bridal  eve,  she  awoke  from  her  lethargy  at 
last. 

Sunday  had  always  been  the  plcnsnntest  day 
in  Barbara's  week.  She  liked  to  hear  the  mu- 
sical bells  chiming  over  the  sunny  downs  ;  she 
liked  to  go  up  into  the  grand  old  cathedral, 
with  its  old-fashioned  stained-glass  windows 
and  sleepy  hollows  of  pews.  Slie  liked  to  wan- 
der through  the  quiet  streets  of  the  town,  hush- 
ed in  Sabbath  stillness,  and  in  the  purple  sun- 
set she  liked  to  lie  on  the  rocks,  lazy  as  a  Syb- 
arite, and  listen  drowsily  to  the  nmrmurini,' 
trees  and  waves.  But  it  was  a  dull  Sunday 
this — a  dreary  day,  with  the  watery  sky  of 
lead— a  dismal  day,  with  a  raw  sea  wind  and 
fog — a  miserable  day,  with  the  drizzling  rain 
blotting  out  the  marshes  in  a  blank  of  wet  and 
cold — a  suicidal  day,  with  a  ceaseless  drip, 
drip,  drip.  The  windows  were  blurred  .md 
clammy,  the  waves  roaring  and  Hwashing-witli 
an  eerie  roar  over  the  rocks,  and  everything 
slimy  and  damp,  cheerless  and  inicomfortabK'. 
And  on  this  wretched  day,  the  bride-elect  w.)l;« 
from  her  heavy  trance,  and  became  possessed  ef 
a  walking  demon.  She  wandered  aimlessly  in 
and  out  of  her  own  room,  down  to  the  soakin;,' 
and  splaHhing  shore,  over  the  wet  an<l  shiny 
rocks,  along  the  dark  and  dreary  marshes,  a;id 
back  again  into  the  house,  with  her  clothes  wot 
and  clinging  around  her,  and  still  unable  to  eit 
down  anywhere. 

Afer  the  one  o'clock  dinner,  she  retreated 
agairi  to  her  chamber,  heedless  of  Judith's 
warnings  to  change  her  clothes,  and  did  nut 
make  tier  appearance  until  the  dark  day  wna 
changed  into  a  darker  and  dismaUr  evening. 
The  cottage  kitchen  looked,  if  possible,  more 
obeerlesB  and  disordered  than  ever.    The  grecD 


wcod  on 

pirtfeil  01 
and  tier  1 
uf  a  re  pa 
dc'or  op( 
and  bonti 
one   look 
scene,  an 
either,   w 
Little  pu 
chill  win( 
fectly  im 
went  on, 
way  throi 
ping  tree 
Jvjght « 
erable  ni{ 
horrors ; 
the  rows  ( 
to  the  si(j 
the  serva 
A  footi 
from  the 
standing  i 
"Oh,  1 
man,  who 
Wet  night 
"La!   1 
dcr,  the  h< 
the  hall  w 
"I   haven 
What  in  tl 
nasty  nigl 
'  I  hav( 
Barbara,  c 
She  had 
lier  voice 
to  herself, 
nnil  gave 
look  at  W 
"  What 
when  flust 
ing  up  at 
"  What  01 
look  like 

"  Unoot 
Mr.  Johns 
"  No  I" 
to  see  Ci 
goodness, 
Black  is 
him  y" 
"  Oh 
stairs, 
with  thes( 
step  into 
know." 

Barbari 
itig  tlio 
cliandelie 
liidc-and 
8  long  t. 
Iftin,  and 


I 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


31 


ride,  nnA  new 
the  Bliort  week 
tient  to  make 
J  have  wished 
iig,  an<l  theu 
ad  tu  do. 
jsy  from  day- 
|«  ui>  for  it  hy 
ce  oi  the  earth, 

window,  with 
d  doing  Bome- 
,he  fire,  all  tlie 
have  gone  like 
ng  looking  out 
sty  luarslieB  aud 
ite ;  bIic  acarce- 
er  liBtless  e^eg 
ou    the    prelty 

and  fruit,  her 
;n  turned  awi\y 
ck  on  the  nervo 
e  Bligl'.ieBt  idea 
hiy,  and  Satur- 
n—the lull  tllftt 
n  Sunday  came, 

her  lethargy  at 

pleasnntest  day 
to  how  the  mu- 
nny  dowiiB  ;  slie 
d  old  C8thedri\l, 
l-gliis8    windows 
lie  liked  to  wan- 
f  the  town,  hush- 
the  purple  suii- 
i,  lazy  ns  a  Syb- 
the  murmuring 
I  a   dull  Sunday 
e   watery   sky  of 
iw  Bca  wind  iiml 
le  drizzlin^'  nin 
jlank  of  wet  nml 
ceaBcless  drip, 
ere    blurred    ami 
[»d  HWdsiiing'Willi 
,  aiitl   evc'r>  thini; 
(1  tniconiforUbli'. 
1  hride-elect  W.)l;« 
cam*'  possessed  of 
ercd  aimlessly  in 
,-ii  to  the  Bi)ivkiii;5 
10  wet  and  fliiny 
eary  marslies,  aiul 
,h  her  clothes  wot 
Btill  unable  to  sit 

Iner,  she  rctreateil 
Hess  of  Judith's 
th(!8.  and  did  not 
the  dark  day  wiu 
dismaUr  evening. 
,  if  poBBible,  more 

b  ever.    The  green 


wcod  on  the  luni tli  spnttored,  and  liissod,  and 
pnffed  out  viciuus  clouds  of  smoke  ;  and  Judith 
and  lier  son  were  at  the  wooden  table  partaking 
of  ft  repast  of  beef  .ind  brown  bread,  when  her 
door  opened,  and  Barbara  came  out  shawled 
and  bonneted  for  a  walk.  She  paused  to  give 
one  look  of  unutterable  disgust  at  the  whole 
scene,  and  tlien,  without  heeding  the  words  of 
either,  walked  out  into  the  dismul  evening. 
Little  pools  of  water  filled  the  road,  aud  the 
chili  wind  bl  -w  the  ruin  in  her  face  ;  but,  per- 
fectly indifferent  to  all  outward  things,  she 
went  on,  entered  the  park  gate,  and  too'  her 
way  through  the  avenues,  and  heavy  and  <h*ip- 
ping  trees,  up  to  the  old  manor. 

Night  was  falling  when  she  reached  it — a  mis- 
erable night^nough  to  give  any  wayfarer  the 
horrors;  but  long  lines  of  lii(ht  streamed  from 
the  rows  of  windows,  and  showed  her  the  way 
to  the  side-door,  where  she  stopped  and  rang 
the  servant's  bell. 

A  footman  opened  it,  and  a  flood  of  light 
from  the  hall-lamp  fell  on  the  tall,  wet  figure 
standing  pale  in  the  doorway. 

"Oh,  it'8  you,  Misa  Black,  is  it?"  said  the 
man,  who  knew  Barbara  very  well ;  "  come  in. 
Wet  night— isn't  it?" 

"  La !  Barbara,  my  dear !"  cried  Mrs.  Wil- 
der, tlio  housekeeper,  who  was  passing  through 
the  hall  with  a  trayful  of  liedrocjiciindlesticks. 
"I  haven't  seen  you  for  a  mouth,  I  think. 
What  in  the  world  has  brought  you  out  such  a 
nwjtv  niglit?" 

'  1  have  come  to  see  Colonel  Shirley,"  said 
Barbara,  entering.     "  Is  ho  at  home  ?' 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  before  thnt  day,  and 
he/:  voice  seemed  strange  and  unnatural  even 
to  herself.  Mrs.  Wilder  started  as  nho  heard  it, 
and  gave  a  little  scream  as  she  took  another 
look  at  Barbara's  fa-e. 

"  What  on  heartli !"  said  Mrs  Wilder,  who, 
when  flustered,  had  a  free-aml-easy  way  of  tak- 
ing up  and  dropping  her  '•  h'a"  at  ploasuro. 
"  Wliat  on  heartii  hails  j-ou,  ray  dear  ?  You 
look  like  a  ghost— don't  she,  Johnson  ?" 

"  Uncommon  like,  I  sliould  say  !"  remarked 
Mr.  Johnson.     "  Been  sick,  Miss  Black  V 

"No!"  said  Barbara,  iinpatieiiilv.  "T  want 
to  see    Colonel    Shirley.     Will    you    have    the 

goodness,   Mrs.  Wilder,   to    tell    him    Barbara  ,•■•,,• 

Black  is  here,  and   wish-s   particularly   to  see    nate  uprightness  ami  iiidomitahlc  i.r 
LjjjjV"  I  her  always  epeak  the  straightforward  t 

"  Oh  yes,  I'll  tell  him !  Come  along  up 
stairs.  1  was  just  going  into  the  drawii.groom 
with  these  candlesticks,  any  way.  'Ere,  just 
step  into  the  dining-room,  and  I'll  let  him 
know." 

Barbara  stepped  into  the  blaze  of  light  fill- 
ing tlio    spacious    dining-room    from    a   huge  | 
cluindelier,  where   gods   and  goddesses   played  ^ 
hideand  seek  in  a  forest  of  fmsted  silver;  where 
8  long  table  flashed  with  cut-glnss,  and  porce- 
lain, and   Bilver-plate,  and    bouquets  of  hot 


house  exotics,  in  splendid  vases  of  purple  Bpar 
and  snowy  alabaster ;  where  a  carved  oaken  aide- 
board  was  loaded  with  wine  and  dessert,  and 
where  tho  walls  were  brilliant  with  pictures  of 
the  chase  and  banqueting  scenes.  It  was  all 
so  glaringly  bright  aud  dazzlirg,  that  Birbara 
was  half  blinded  for  a  moment ;  but  she  only 
looked  quietly  round,  and  thought  of  the  smoky 
kitchen,  and  the  bare  deal  table,  with  the  brown 
bread  and  beef  at  home.  She  could  hear  voices 
in  the  blue  drawing-room  (which  was  only  sej)- 
arated  from  the  one  she  was  iu  by  a  curtained 
arch),  and  the  echo  of  every  laughter,  and  then 
the  curtain  was  lifted,  and  Colonel  Shirley  ap- 
peared, his  whole  face  lit  with  an  eager  sndle  of 
welcome,  and  both  his  friendly  hands  extended. 
"  My  good  little  Barbara !  my  dear  little  Bar- 
bara !  and  you  liave  come  to  see  us  at  last !" 

She  let  him  take  both  her  hands  in  his ;  but 
as  he  clasped  them,  the  glad  smile  faded  from 
his  animated  face,  and  gave  place  to  one  of  as- 
tonishment and  concern.  For  (he  beautiful  face 
was  so  haggard  and  worn,  so  wasted  and  pale  ; 
the  smooth  white  brow  furrowed  by  such  deep 
lines  of  suffering;  the  eyes  so  unnaturally,  so 
feverishly  bright;  the  hands  so  wan  and  icily 
cold,  that  he  might  well  look  iu  surprised  oon- 
Bternation. 

"  My  dear  little  Barbara  !"  he  said,  in  wonder 
and  in  sorrow;  "what  is  the  meaning   of  ad 
tills?    Have  you  been  ill?" 
"No,  Sir!" 

"  Your    very    voice   is    changed !     Barbara, 
what  is  the  matter?" 
"  NoUiing! 

"  Something,  I  think  !  Sit  down  here  and 
tell  me  what  it  is." 

lie  drew  up  an  easy-chair  and  placed  her  in 
it,  taking  one  opposite,  and  looking  anxiously 
into  the  wasteii  and  worn  faee. 

•'  Barbara,  Barbara  !  pomething  is  wrong — 
very  much  is  wrong !     Will  you  not  tell  an  old 


luslious 
pity. 


friend  wliat  has  changed  you  like  tliis 

"No!"  she   said,  looking    with  lier 
eyes  straight  into  his. 

He  sat  silent,  watching   her  with  grave 
ing  tenderness,  then  : 

"  W^hy  liave  you  not  been   to  see  us  before, 
Barbara?" 

"  I  did  not  wish  to,"  said  Barbara,  vhose  in- 

ide    made 
pealc  tlie  straigliriorwara  truth, 

"Do  vou  know  that  Vivia  sent  for  you  al- 
most every  day  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  ?" 

"  I  did  not  wish  to." 

"  Do  you  know  that  my  daughter  and  I  went 
to  your  cottage  the  day  after  our  return  to  se^ 
you  ?" 

"  Yes  !" 

"We  did  not  see  you;  your  grandmother 
said  you  were  ill.    What  was  the  matter  V" 


■<»»' 


y 


-V)-;; 


82 


UNMASKED ;  OR, 


*'  I  was  not  ill,  but  I  couKl  not  aee  you." 

More  [lerplexed  than  ever,  the  Colonel  looked 
nt.  Iiur,  won  lennt^  whnt  niyaterjr  was  behind  all 
tills  lo  iiitVK  uhunged  bersu 

"  I  liuve  iit'Hrd,  Barharti,'*  be  etiid,  after  a 
lianse,  "that  joa  are  going  to  be  luarried.  Ii 
It  true  ?" 

'•I  Mb," 

'•  And  to  Mr  Sweet  ?" 

*•  To  Mr.  Sweet!"  she  said,  calmly  ;  but  with 
tiie  f.-verish  fire  still  streaming  from  lier  eyes. 

His  only  answer  was  to  take  tier  baud  again 
iu  but!)  bis  own,  and  look  at  ber  in  a  way  he 
soBietimeH  locked  at  bis  own  dHiij;bter  of  late — 
half  sadly,  balf  g'tyly,  balf  tenderly.  Barbara 
was  looking  at  liim,  too.  There  was  sometbing 
eo  grand  in  tlie  man's  face,  sonictiiing  so  noble 


elet  of  gems  olaspisg  back  tb«  flowing  cur!?, 
came  in  with  &  debgbied  little  orj  of  girlish  de- 
light. 

"O  Barbara!  Barbara!"  bow  glad  I  am  to 
see  you !" 

But  Barbara  recoiled,  and  held  ont  botb  artca 
with  a  gesture  of  such  unnatural  terror  and  re- 
pulsion, that   the  shining   figure  stopped  auj 
looked  at  her  in  speeoblfss  amaze  ;  and  then  be- 
fore either  she  or  her  father  coubl  speak,  or  in- 
tercept her,  she  was  across  the  room,  out  of  iLe 
door,  through  the  ball,  down  the  stairs,  and  ou! 
into   the   wet,   black   night   again.     Mr.  Pettr 
Black  had  long  retired  to   seek  the  balmy,  be- —, 
fore  bis  daughter  got  home  ;  Judith  was  sitting  IJ"'"*'"  "^  *' 
up  for  her,  very  cross  and  sleepy  in  her  corner;  Bf"*-'"''     ^^" 
ond  Mr.  Sweet  was  there,  too,' walking   up  anJB'°*'*°'?  . ' 


en  the  ab 
il  yet,  an 
would  sat 
It  was  trt 

dicam^'nl 
it  waa  like 
the  fire  ; 
itraw  aboi 
married  b; 
the  would 
if  jiapa  fti 
She  would 
were  scor< 
take  iiis  p 


in  his  broad,  serene  brow  ;  simiething  so  genial  j  down  the  room,  feverishly  impatient  and  anx 
in  his  bint*  eye.  shining  with  the  blenied  fire  of  j  i«>"B.  Barbara  came  in  soaking  wet,  and  witlj. 
man  and  tenderness  of  woman  ;  something  so  >  o"t  looking  or  speaking  to  either  of  tliem,  wnl  • 
sweet  and  strong    iu    the    handsome,   smiling  {  ed    straight  to    her    room.      The    bridegroom 


'g 
month  ;  something  so  protectniu'  in  the  clasp  of 

the  firm  hand  ;  something  infinitely  good  and 
great  in  the  upright  bearing  of  figure,  and  kind 
voice,  that  Barbara's  heart  broke  out  into  a 
great  cry,  and  clinging  to  the  strong  arm  as  if 
it  were  her  Inst  hope,  she  dropped  down  on  her 
knees  at  his  feet,  and  covered  his  hand  with  pas- 
sionate kisses. 

'*  O  my  friend !  my  friend !"  she  cried ; 
''you,  wiio  are  so  noble,  and  so  good,  who  have 
been  kind  and  tender  to  lue  always,  and  wlioiii 
I  love  and  revere  more  than  all  the  world  bo- 
sidi-H.  I  could  not  do  it  until  I  had  heard  you 
s:iv  one  kind  word  to  nie  again  !     I  could  not 


bridegr 
sought   bis  own  home,  with  an  anxious  heart;! 
ana  the   happy    bride  sat   by  her   window  th« 
whole  livelong  liight! 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

A8KIN0   F«»R    UKKAO   AND    RKCEIVmO   A   8T0KI. 

It  is  not  a  very  pleasant  notion  for  any  lady  or  I 
gentleman  to  take  it  into  their  heads  that  ilievl 
have  made  fooln  of  thfUiselves,  yet  Mr.  Leicisttrl 
Cliffe,  albeit  not  t'iven  to  hold  too  bumblu  iia| 
opinion  of  himself,  had  just  arrived  at  that  com. 
fortal)le  conclusion,  as  tuecars  whirled  him  buck  I 
from  London  to  Sussex.  Absence,  like  tleiiiii,  | 
show  perrtons  and  things   in  their  proper  lij.'hi, 


I 


sell  my  soul  tr;  perdition,  until  I  bad  knelt  ut  I  oi>d  strip  the  gilding  from  granite  ,  and  as  di;- 
/our  feet,  and  told  you  how  much  I  thank  you,  \  tance  removed  the  glanitmr  from  liis  eyt-s,  tb* 
liow  much  1  love  you,  anil  how,  if  I  dared,  II  lieir  of  Clitfewond  had  taken  to  serious  reflection 
would  pray  for  vou  all  fho  rest  of  my  life!  Oh, '  i>id  come  to  a  few  very  decided  decisions- 1«- 
1  am  i^he  wickeifest  and  basest  wretch  on  God's  ,  pnmis,  that  he  had  fallen  iu  love  with  Barbari 
earth!  but  if  there  is  anything  in  this  world  !  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  seen  her;  thm 
that  could  have  redeemed  me,  and  made  me  '  bo  hatl  loved  her  pver  since,  that  he  love.l  hfr 
what  I  once  was,  what  I  never  will  lie  again,  it  i  now,  and  tb  it  hu  wae'  likely  to  keep  on  dointc»o 
is  the  memory  of  you  and  your  goodness— you,  |  *»  l"»g  as  it  was  in  him  to  love  anybody.  So- 
for  whoso  sake  I  oould  die."  |  ond,  that  he  admired  and  respected  bis  pntiy 

She  sank  lower  down,  her  face  and  his  hand  '  cousin  excessively;  tliat  he  knew  she  wos  i 
all  bliittod  with  the  ruin  of  tears  ;  and  quite  be-  thousand  times  too  pure  for  such  a  sinner  u 
side  himself  with  consternation,  the  Indian  ofii-  he,  and  that  he  had  never  for  one  instant  feit» 
cer  strove  to  raise  her  up.  ;  stronger   stutiment   for   her    than  admiration, 

"Barbara,  my  dear  chihi,  for  Heaven's  sake,  I  Thirdly,  he  was  neither  more  nor  less  tliaa  «»| 
rise!     Tell  me,  I  Ug  of  vou,  whnt  you  mean  1"  !  unmitigated  coward  and  villain,  for  whcni  liaug- 

'•  No,  no,  1  eannot!  I  dare  not!  but  if  in  ing  would  be  too  good.  But  just  as  he  arrivtj 
the  time  to  come,  the  miserable  time  to  come,  {  at  this  consoling  conclusion,  and  wan  ii  t.initj 
you  bear  me  spoken  of  as  sonielbing  not  fit  l<j    a  mental  "  Mcaailpas  !''  hesuildenly  belhoUfiiil 


name,  you  will  think  there  is  one  spot  in  my 
wretched  heart  free  from  guilt,  where  your  mem- 
ory will  be  ev*»r  cherished  I  Try  and  think  of 
me  Hi  my  best,  no  matter  what  people  may 
sayf- 

Before  be  could  speak,  the  door  opened,  and 
Barbara  leaped  to  her  feet  with  a  rebound.  A 
fairy  figure,  in  a  splendid  dinner  toilet,  v.ith 
jewels  flashing  on  the  neck  and  arms,  and  a  oir- 


himself  of  the  wise  old  saw — "It  is  never  to4| 
late  to  mend  !"  and  Mope  once  more  planted  hd 
shining  foot  on  the  threshold  of  his  heart.  Wlitl 
if  now  that  his  eyrs  were  opened,  even  now 
the  eleventh  hour,  he  were  to  liiaw  buck,  kind 
before  the  lady  of  his  love,  and  be  forgivji 
He  knew  the  would  forgive  ;  she  loved  hini.m' 
women  are  so  much  like  spaniels  by  nature,  ihi 
the  worse  they  are  used  the  more  tifey  will  U* 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


83 


flowing  cnrle. 
•y  of  giriwb  de- 

r  glad  I  »ccv  to 

d  oat  botb  arma 
A  terror  and  re- 
ire  Btopped  and 
Ee  ;  and  then  be- 
ulil  apeak,  or  in- 
room,  out  of  ilt 
le  Btaire.  and  out 
'ain.     Mr.  Pettr 


)y  in  her  corner; 
walking  up  anJ 
patient  and  anx- 
ng  wet,  and  with- 
HT  of  tliCDQ,  will  • 

The  bridegroom 
n  anxious  hi-nrl, 
r  her  wiudow  tli«  I 


P-?rli!'.p8  she  even  had  not  heard  I  the  lawyer   paced  np  and  down  with   a  more 

anziouH  heart  than  any  otLer  happy  bridegroom 


cz  the  abaoer. 

il  yet,  and  he  could  easily  find  excuses  that 
would  aattsfy  her  for  his  absence  and  silence. 
It  was  true  that  would  leave  him  in  a  nice  pre- 
dicam^'nt  with  Miss  Shirley — so  nice  a  one  that 
it  wao  like  jumping  out  of  the  frying-pan  into 
the  fire  ;  but  then  Miss  Shirley  did  not  care  a 
itraw  about  him  one  way  or  the  other  ;  she 
married  him  ao  a  matter  of  obedience,  just  as 
the  would  have  marrieo  Mr.  Sweet,  the  lawyer, 
if  napa  and  grandmamma  had  inaiated  upon  it. 
Slif  would  not  suffer  by  his  leaving  her — there 
were  scores  of  better  men  ready  and  willing  to 

, -  ■take  iiis  place,  and  her  name  would  not  be  in 

k  the  balmy,  be-  Biyf^,!  jjy  it,  for  no  one  knew  of  their  engage- 

udith  was  sitting  B'{„^.„t      Not  that  Mr.  Leicester  dreamed  for  one 

instant  of  being  Quixote  enough  to  avow  his  sen- 

liim^ntal  intention,     lie  shrank  in  horror  at  t!ie 

bare  idea  of  the  unheard-of  scene  that  would 

enaiie,  and  which  would  probably  end  by  his 

lieing  shot  like  a  dog  by  that  fire-eating  Colonel 

Clitfe  ;  but  he  would  induce  Burl  ara  to  elope 

with  him  ;    he  would  marry  her   probably  in 

London,  and  then  with  his  bride  would  set  sail 

for  America,  or  Australia,  or  aome  other  howl- 

inir  wilderness,  and   live  happy  forever   after. 

Ami  having  settled  the  whole  matter  to  his  infi- 

Dito   satisfaction,  he   leaned   back  in   his  sent, 

ojieiied  the  Times,  and  was  borne  swiftly  on, 

not  to  Victoria's,  but  to  Barbara's  feet. 

And  while  the  grimy  engine  was  tearing  over 
tlip  level  track,  vomiiing  clouds  of  black  smoke, 
and  groaning  with  the  commotion  in  its  iron 
howels,  the  said  Barbara,  all  unconscious  of  her 
[good  fortune,  was  very  differently  employed,  in 
jjiotliing  less   than   in   dtt-ssing  for  her  bridal. 
.\8pkndid  morning  of  sunshine  and  summer 
rofzes  had  followed  the  gloomy  night,  and  Mr. 
wflet  had  risen  with  the  lark ;  nav,  fully  two 
ours  before  that  early  bird  had  woke  from  his 
loriiing   nap,   and    had    busily   proceeded    to 
nake  all  the  final  arrangements  for  his  mar- 
aije.     Before  sitting  down  to  his  eight  o'clock 
reakfiist,  of  which  he  found  he  could  not  swal- 
uw  a  morsel,  for  matrimony  takes  awny  the  ap- 
iti(i)  us  effectually  »»  Hi-a-sicknees,  he  had  dis- 
alched    tho   meek  little   housekeeper  down  to 
owtr  Cliffe  with  sundry  bnndhs    and  band- 
oieu,  whenin  tho  bride  wai  to  be  arrayed,  and 
twas  with  a  troubled  spirit  Mr.  Sweet  liad  seen 
er  depart.     For  half  an  hour  he  paced  up  and 
lown  in  a  perfect  ag-ny  of  feveriah  impatience, 
nd  still  the  burden  of  hia  thoughts  waa,  what  if 
ft<r  all,  at  tho   last  moment,  the  willful,  way- 
ird   liarbara,   should   draw  lack.      No   oue 
"il.i  .-.ver  count  on  that  impuUive  and  head- 
irnni^  young  lady  more  than  two  minutes  at  a 
imc,  and  just  a*  likely  as  not,  wheu  he  arrive.) 
it  the  cottage,  he  would  find  her  locked  in  lier 
oom  and  refusing  all  entreaties  to   corue  out ; 
r  ohe   might  come   out  with  a  vengeance,  and 
ith  two  or  three  sharp  sentences  knoek  all  his 
autiful  plans  remorselessly  ou  the  head.     So 


iU. 

ElVINO   A   8T0NI. 

ion  for  any  lu«iy  or 
ir  heads  that  tliey 
1,  yet  Mr.  Leicesttr 
j|d  too  humhlf  iia 
•rived  at  thai  com- 
Is  whirled  him  back 
^sence,  like  dtiiui. 
Lheir  proper  li^'lii. 
anite  ,  and  nsdij- 
from   his  eyes,  tbe 
;o  eerious  refltction 
led  decisions- jra- 
love  with  Barbara 
or   seen   her  ;  tii»l 
that  he  loved  lift 
to  keep  on  doini;  sd 
•ve  anybody,    f^"'- 
spected  hia  preli)" 
J   knew   she  was » 
such   a  sinner  u 
)r  one  instant  feln 
r    than  admiraiiun 
V.  nor  leos  tliau  «»l 
ain,  for  whi:ni  bang, 
t  just  Krt  he  arrivtJ 
u,  and  was  u  t.rnjj 
suddenly  l.elhougii 

"  It  is  never  ti 

mce  more  planted  li 
il  of  liis  heart.  Win 
opened,  even  nti«' 
to  draw  back,  kia- 
|ve,  and  be  fon;iv» 
;  she  loved  hiii..i"!( 
aniels  by  nature,  ibi 
e  more  tUey  willli 


ever  had  on  his  bridal  morning  ;  and  eertainly 
none  ever  had  a  more  exasperating  bride.  And 
in  tbe  middle  of  a  dismal  train  of  refiectious 
about  finding  himself  dished,  the  clock  struck 
nine,  a  cab  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  he  jump- 
ed in  and  was  driven  through  the  town  and 
down  to  Tower  Clitfe.  Radiant  as  Mr.  Sweet 
always  was,  he  had  never  been  seen  so  intensely 
radiant  as  on  this  particular  morning,  in  a 
bran  new  suit  of  lawyer-like  black,  a  brilliant 
canary-colored  waistcoat,  ditto  stock,  and  ditto 
gloves,  and  mitylly  stuck  in  his  button-hole  ap- 
peared a  bou([uet  of  the  yellowest  possible 
primroses.  But  his  sallow  face  was  pale  with 
excitement,  and  hia  eyes  gleamed  with  feverish 
eagerness  as  lie  entered  tho  cottage,  from  which 
he  could  not  tell  whether  or  do  be  was  to  bear 
away  a  bride. 

But  he  might  have  spared  his  fears,  for  it  was 
all  right.     Tiie  cottage  looked  neat  for  once,  for 
the  little  housekeeper  bad  put  it  to  rights ;  and 
Mr.  Black  ami  Judith  were  arrayed  in  their  best, 
and  neither  was  smoking,  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor  was  Barbara — the  bride.     Barbara  was 
not  looking  her  best,  as  brides  should  always 
make  it  a  point  of  conscience   to  do ;  for  her 
face  and  lips  were  a  great  deal  too  colorless,  her 
e}08,  surrounded  by  dark  circles,  telling  of  sleep- 
less nights  nights  and   woful  davs,  looked  too 
large  and  b(dlow,  and  solemn  ;  but  stately  and 
majestic  she  must  always  look,  and  i>he  looked 
it  now — looked  as  a  dethroned  and  imprisoned 
queen  might  do  at  her  jailers.     She  was  to  \n 
married  in  her  travelimj-dress,  as  they  started 
i:iimediately  after  the  ceremony  for  London  ,  luid 
Mr.  Sweet  countermanded  the  order  for  the  wed- 
ding breakfast,  on  finding  there  would  be   no- 
body but  himself  to  eat  it,  and  the  dress  was  i.f 
silver-gray   barege,   relieved    with    knots    and 
bows  of  mauve  ribbon,  a  pretty  mantle  of  silk 
and  lace,  and  a  straw  bonnet,  trimmed  also  wit  i 
mauve  and  silver-gray.     The  toilet  was  8iin|)U', 
but  elegant ,  and  if  Barbara  did  not  look  one- 
half  so  brilliant  and  beautiful  in  it,  as  she  bad 
done  a  fortnight  before  in   her  plain,  crimsoa 
nierino,  it  was  her  fault,  and  not  Madame  Mo- 
diste's.    The  housekeeper  was  jhsL  fastening  the 
last  little  kid  glove,  ami  Barbara  lifted  her  eyes 
from  the  floor  on  which  they  hal  been  bent,  a^d 
looked  at  him  out  of  their  solemn  dark  depths 
as  he  entered. 

"  Are  you  quite  ready  V"  he  nervously  asked. 
*'  Quite    ready.    Sir,"    answered    the     house- 
keeper, who  was  to  accompany  them  to  church. 
•'  Tho  carriage  is  at  the  door.     Come,  Bar- 
bara." 

She  would  not  see  his  proffered  arm,  yet  sha 
followed  him  quietly  and  without  a  word,  an  I 
let  him  hand  her  into  the  carriage.  The  liltio 
housekeeper  came  next,  nn<i  then  Mr.  Black, 
who  had  enjoyed  the  unusual  blefsings  of  shav- 


84 


UNMASKED;  OB, 


ing  aiiil  Imir-cuttiiig,  stumbled  up  tlie  Btops, 
looking  imrticuliirly  eulky  and  UDCuiufurtiiliU;  in 
liiu  now  (ilulliL'S  ;  niid  then  Mr.  Sweet  jumpt'd  in, 
too.  uu'l  i,'(ivo  the  I  rdcr  to  drive  to  the  catLf- 

••ul.  it  \vu8  .1  Wvi.d  woddiiig- party,  witnout 
bri  icBm.iid(j  or  'jlesdings,  or  flowers  or  ftiopery  ,• 
ar..l  on  llic  way  nut  oiio  word  wna  spoke  by  any 
of  t'ae  party.  Barbara  sat  like  a  cold,  white 
«tatue,  lier  handx  lying  listlessly  in  Imm-  lap,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  her  thoughts— where? 
Mr.  Sweet's  heart  was  beating  in  feverish  and  im- 
patient throbs,  and  his  breath  came  quick,  and 
on  Ills  sallow  choeks  were  two  burning  spots  ;  in 
his  serene  eyes  hhone  a  strange  lire,  and  his  yvl- 
low-gloved  hands  trembled  so  that  he  hua  to 
grnsp  the  window  to  keep  them  from  seeing  it. 
The  little  housekeeper  looked  frightened  inui 
nwe-struok  ;  and  Mr.  Blank,  with  his  hands  stuck 
very  deep  in  his  coat  pockets,  was  scowling  des- 
perately on  them  all  by  turns.  Fifteen  minutes 
fast  driving  brought  the  grim  bridal-party  to 
the  cathedral,  where  a  curious  crowd  was  col- 
lected:  some  came  to  attend  morning  service 
which  was  then  going  on,  and  others  ])rought 
there  ly  the  rumors  of  the  marriage.  The  law- 
yer drew  his  bride's  orm  firmly  within  his  own, 
imd  led  her  in  while  the  two  otliers  followed, 
while  more  than  one  audible  comment  on  the 
^Iritnge  looks  of  Barbiira  reached  his  ears  as 
he  passed.  The  cathedral  wag  half  filled,  and 
the  ur.'.nii  poured  forth  grand  swelling  notes  as 
tluy  walked  up  the  aisle.  Behind  the  rails,  in 
t-tate  and  surplice,  and  book  in  hand,  stood  one 
of  the  curates ;  bride  and  brid<-groom  placid 
themselves  before  him,  and  the  bridegroom 
could  hoar  nothing,  not  even  tlie  music,  for  the 
loud  beating  of  his  heart.  Everyhod}'  held 
their  lireuth,  and  leaned  forward  to  look,  and 

"  Who  gives  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man?"  demanded  the  curate,  looking  aurionsiv 
at  the  strange  bride.  And  Mr.  Black  8t<  '(j-wwi 
forward  and  gave  her,  and  then^  '         ! 

"  Wilt  thou  take  this  woman  to  be  thj  v.j- 
ded  wife?"  demanded  the  curate  agiin. 

And  Mr.  Sweet  said,  "  I  will!"  in  a  voice  that 
was  husky  and  shook  ,  and  llie  bride  said,  "  1 
will."  too,  clearly,  distinctly,  unfalteringly.  And 
then  the  ring  was  on  her  finger,  and  they  joined 
hands,  and  th«  curate  prouuced  them  man  and 
wife. 

The  organ  that  had  been  silent  for  a  moment, 
as  if  it,  too,  had  8loj)ped  to  listen,  now  broke 
out  into  an  exultant  strain,  and  the  voices  of 
the  choristers  uiade  the  domed  roof  ring.  The 
n»»,u';B  of  the  married  pair  were  insertsu  in  the 
ttv,i8ter,  'I  1  Mr.  Sweet  took  his  wife's  arm — his 
V'ife's  tliis  time— to  lead  her  down  the  oin/e. 
The  --k  eves  were  looking  straight  before  her, 
with  i;  ,:xed,  fierce,  yet  ca'  .i  intensity,  and  a-: 
'  )?y  i  ,'Hi'ed  t'«e  door  t'.ey  ,'ell  on  something  she 
I  H-i  i.ar.lly  bargained  for.  Leaning  ttu-ainst  a 
,>i.i.r,  pale  i.".niaught_>,  stt>od  Leicester  C'l.fe, 
..''ho   :.\c'   aru ted  just  in  time  to  witneas  tb«  i 


cliarming  sight,  ard  whose  t;'ue  eyes  met  tho' 
of  th^*  bride  with  !.  powerlul  look.  Tl>e  bappr 
bridegroom  saw  iiim  at  tbi  sfime  instant,  anil 
the  two  burning  cy  'jA  (i^'ijj;''.':('C  on  his  cluck 
bones,  and  the  fire  in  <ii»  flyts  too  .  n  uefiuii 
and  triumphant  p^iarklc.  'Al.-^re  bud  been  a  yal- 
vanic  start  on  the  pii/f,  ol  the  (o.it.e  ;  but  Ik- 
held  her  arm  li^htly,  and  Air.  weot,  with  a 
smile  on  his  lip,  bowed  low  to  hiiu  as  lie  passeil, 
and  Barbara's  sweeping  skirts  brushed  i.im,  iiui]  j 
then  they  were  gone,  ^'.lut  up  in  tiie  ciirriai,'t', 
and  driving  away  rapidly  to  catch  the  next  Luu- 
don  train. 

Leicester  Cliffe  turned  slowly  from  the  catlie- 
<lral,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  to  Clifl^ewuod, 
Th.ie  he  had  [lis  dusty  traveling-d'  ess  to  chance,  j 
his  breakfast  to  take,  and  a  great  deal  to  lieur 
fiom   Sir   Roland,   who   was   full  of  news,  an  I 
whose  first  question  was,  if  he  knew  that  hisuil 
flame,  pretty  little  Barbara,  had  married  tii^tl 
oily  fellow,  Sweet.     Then,  as  in  duty  bound,  liel 
had  to  ride  to  his  lady-love,  oud  report  the  sue- 
cofisful   aoccMiplishmont  of  idl    his   trusts  nnj 
charges,  and  spend  with  a  ^oy  party  there  tlu'l 
remainder  of  the  day.     It  was  on  that  eventl'ul 
day  the  engagement  was  publicly  and  forniully 
announced,  and  all  the  kifj>King  and  congratiiUt- 
ing    Vivia   had   dreaded    so   much,    "as  guiiel 
through  with,  to  her  great  di.^composure ;  ,,„jj 
she  WHS  glad  when  eveUHs);  ijame  to  leave  tliel 
talking  crowd,  and  wundev  u:ider  the  trees  aiuiiel 
with  her  thoughts.     It  was  u  lovely  night  nioM-j 
lit  and  starlit,  ani  the  was  loaning   against  al 
tree,    looking   wistuniy   up  at  the  "far-off  skvj 
thmking  of  the   wedding  that  had  tnken  |)lace| 
thot  day,  and  the  other  so  soon  to  follow,  wluu 
the  sound  of  a  hnrso  i-,a]K>jnng  furiously  u|i  tliel 
avenue  male  her  look  round  and   liehold  Tmal 
Shirley  dashing  along  iike  a  madman.     He  liajl 
been  spending  the  day  at  Lisleham  with  L.rj| 
^lenry;  and  V^ivia  as  she  watched   him   AyinA 
long  so  fiercely,  began  to  think  the  wine  atj 
dinner  had  been  a  little  too  strong. 

"  Why,  Tom  !"  was  her  cry  ;  "  have  you  gone! 
crazy !"  I 

Tom  h.id  not  eeen  her,  but  at  the  sound  ol'liej 
voice  recheoked  his  horse  so  sharply  and  huJ 
denly,  that  the  steed  came  down  on  his  huiiktrii,| 
and  pawud  the  air  animatedly  with  his  two  fore| 
legs. 

The  next  moment  his  rider  had  jumped  reck-l 
lessly  to  the  ground,  leaving  him  to  find  liiJ 
way  to  the  stables  himself,  and  was  standmi,'  bJ 
side  Vivia,  very  red  in  the  face,  and  very  exoilf 
ed  in  the  eyes,  holding  both  her  hands  iu 
fierce  clasp. 

"Vic!  Vic!  it's  not  true!  it  can't  be  trucj 
I  don't  believe  0  word  of  it  I"  began  theyoiina 
man  with  the  utmost  incoherence.  "  Tell  ni*, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  that  it's  all  a  lie." 

■The  wine  was  certainly  dreadfully  strong,] 
thought  Vic,  looking  nt  him  in  terror,  and  tnj 
ing  to  free  her  iiauds.    But  Tom  only  lit  J 


them   tl 

tly,  ai 

"Yoo. 

I    i"0  rn" 

Uie,  J  sa^ 

"  Wlrl 

you're  tii 

looking  I 

Li  8|>i 

saw  her  | 

aware  tli 

if  they  V 

bear-like 

'•  I  am 

itence  hai 

'•I'uor  li 

thet.i  ;    bi 

I'    '.  that 

u riven  m 

what  mus 

Vio  Itij 

"  That 

you  have 

you.  Coua 

"Uh.sl 

another  bi 

allow  me 

(lined  at  a 

than  wine 

There  w 

Vie  op.ne 

looked    at 

ivas  Very 

felt   inclm 

variably  d 

"  Somet 

ind  you  al 

tell  me  wf 

There  (i 

chestnuts. 

ikirts,  anJ 

Tom  woull 

price,  andf 

"  It  is 

were  goinj 

The  bril 

:ook  t  ic  t| 

"  I  knof 

She  dull 

"  SpealJ 

"speak  ail 

"I  canil 

"  My  ()[ 

to  say  it  if 

She  arc! 

terror  clii[ 

♦'  What 

"  Vio,  il 

*'  It  is !( 

"  You 

"Cliffe?" 

;;!  am 

The  rul 


TETE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


86 


I 


,'68  met  thof 
The  'jftpl"' 
e  instnnt,  an' 

on  his  clitik 
,00  .  a  Uetiiiii 
tu'j  been  11  u;il- 
h.it.e  ;  but  lio 

svect.  wil.li  II 
a  IIS  he  piisseii, 
i8he«'  i.vin,  uuil 
I  the  f;iirrini;t', 

the  next  Luu- 


roui  the  catlie- 1 
>  to  ClifFt'Wtiud. 
irc'BS  to  chance,  I 
it  deal  to  liuiirl 
I  of  news,  ni\'l 
lew  thai  hii  uil 
il  luarritd  iIniI 
duty  bomiil,  he 
report  the  sue- 
his   trusts  nni 
party  there  Ww 
(U  that  eventful  I 
ly  aud  forumlly 
Hid  congrntiiUt- 
luch,    "as  giiiiel 
loinposure;  iinJI 
lie  to  leave  the 
r  the  treesnloiiel 
lily  uight  iiiiK'n- 
ailing   against  il 
the    far-i)tt'  bky,[ 
had  titken  \<\-m«\ 
I  to  follow,  win  11 1 
furiously  up  ii«;l 
iii'l  hehoid  Tuial 
adiiiAU.     He  li«l| 
eham  with  L<  ^1| 
jhed  him  flviiKl 
link  the  wine  at| 

ong. 
"  have  you  gonel 

;  the  sound  of  lierl 
sharply  and  siiJ-r 
n  oil  his  hunkerJ 
with  his  two  forel 

had  jumped  reokl 

liim  to  finii  liul 

I  was  stiiiidini,'  Wi 

c,  and  very  fxoit'l 

her  hands  iu 


them  toe  tighter,  and  brokd  oi't  again,  more 
tiy,  and  wildly,  and  ve'^ecieM.i". ,  than  before  : 
"Yoi:   ^hall  not   no,  \ic!   yon   ^iiall    never 

have  heard  all.     Tell 


'm:   ^liall  not   go 
l.f^ve  rc^  again  until  you 
lae,  I  say,  liiat  it  is  not  true." 

"What  ia  not  true?  Oh,  I  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about.  Cousin  Tom!"  said  Viviii, 
UH)king  round  lier  iu  distuss. 

In  spite  of  his  momentary  craziness,  Tom 
saw  her  pale  face  and  terrified  eyes,  and  heoame 
Hwure  that  he  was  crushing  the  little  hands  as 
if  tliey  Were  in  thumb-sciews,  and  relaxed  his 
bear-like  grip  contritely. 

'*  I  am  u  brute  !"  said  Tom,  in  a  burst  of  pen- 
itence hardly  less  vehement  than  his  former  tone. 
'•  I'oor   little    hands!     I  didn't    mean    to   hurt 
thei.i ;  but  you  know,  Vic,  what  a  fel!ow  I  am, 
II    '.  that  inlerniil  story  they  told  me,  has  nearly 
uriven  me  crazy.     I  am  a  savage,  I  know,  and 
what  must  yon  think  of  me,  Vic  ?" 
Vic  la.;iglied,butyetwitha  rather  pale  cheek',  immaculate  Victoria  Shirley 
"  That  Lord  Lisle's  port  is  rather  strong,  and  ,  tor  an   angil,  and   made 
y-ou  have  been  imbibing  more  than  is  goud  for 
you.  Cousin  Tom." 

'■  Oh,  she  thinks  lam  drunk  !''  said  Tom  with 
another  bu.st,  this  time  with  indignation  ;  •'  but 
allow  me  to  tell  you,  Miss  Shirley,  I  haven't 
ilined  at  all  I  Port,  indeed !  Faitli  it  was  more 
than  wine  that  has  got  into  my  head  to-night " 

There  was  a  cadence  so  bitter  in  his  lene  that 
Vie  op'ued  her  pretty  blue  eyes  very  wide,  and 
looked  at  him  iu  astonishment.  Coui^in  Vic 
was  very  fond  of  Cousin  Tom,  and  she  never 
felt  inclined  to  run  away  from  him,  as  she  in- 
variably did  from  Coufin  Leicester. 

"  Something  has  gone  wrong,  Cousin  lora, 
md  you  are  excited.  Come,  sit  down  here,  aud 
lell  me  what  il  is." 

There  was  a  rustic  bench  under  tip'  waving 
jhestnuts.  Vic  sat  down,  spread  out  lier  rosy 
ikirts,  and  made  room  for  him  beside  her  ;  but 
Tom  would  not  be  tempted  to  sit  down  at  any 
price,  and  burst  out  again  : 

"  It  is  just  this,  Vic !  They  told  me  you 
were  going  to  be  married  !" 

The  bright  eyes  drooped,  and  the  pale  cheeks 
iook  t  le  tint  of  the  reddest  rose  ever  was  seen. 
"  I  know  it  is  not  true !     It  can't  be  true  !" 
She  did  not  answer. 

"Speak!"  exclaimed  Tom,  almost  fiercely; 
"speak  and  tall  me  it  is  not  true!" 
"  I  cannot !"  very  faintly. 
"  My  God !"  he  said  ;  "  you  can  never  mean 
to  say  it  ia  true  "" 


She  arose  suddenly,  and  looked  at  him,  a  cold 
terror  chilling  her  heait. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Vio,  is  it  true  V" 

"  It  is !" 

"  You  are  going  to  be  -narricd  to  Leicester 
^liffe?" 

'•  1  am  I" 

The  rosv  light  had  left  her  cheeks,  for  there 


was  something  in  his  face  that  no  one  had  ever 
seen  in  Tom  Shirley's  face  before. 
"  Do  you  love  iiim  ?  " 

"Toi.i,  what  art  you  thinking  of,  to  ask  6u>'.U 
a  question?" 

'  AiM.vei  it!'  hu  said,  savrj^ely. 
'I  will  love  him!"  haio  Vivia,  firmh ,  ana 
Tom  broke  out  into  n  bitter  jyering  laugh. 

"  Wnich  means  you  will  marry  him  now  be- 
cause he  is  an  excellent  parti,  and  papa  nh-l 
grandmamma,  aud  Uncle  Roland,  wish  )..  -Hid 
trust  to  the  love  to  come  afterward  !  Vic  .^i.iA- 
h'yi  y«u  are  a  miserable,  heartless  coquctU\  nn'.l 
I  despise  you  !" 

She  was  leaning  against  a  tree  ;  clinging  i  , 
it  for  support;  her  whole  face  perfectly  coloi 
less,  but  the  blue  eyes  quailed   not  beneath  his 
own. 

"  You  I" — he  went  on,  in  passionate  scorn, 
and    with    flaming   eyes — "you,  the   spotless". 

You  who  set  up 
an  aiigi'l,  and  made  common  mortals  i'c>:\ 
unwiirthy  to  touch  tiie  hem  of  your  garment. 
You  the  angel  on  earth  !  a  wretched,  jold-blood- 
ed,  perjured  girl !  O  Lucifer!  star  of  the  morn- 
ing, how  thi'U  art  fallen  !" 

"  Tom,  wlua  have  1  ever  done  to  you  to  maUo 
you  talk  like  this?" 

"Oh,  nothing!  only  sold  yourself  body  aed 
soul — a  mere  trifle  not  worth  speaking  of." 

.""ihe  gave  him  a  look  full  of  sorrow  and  re- 
proach, and  turned  with  quiet  dignity  to  \'o 
away. 

"Stay!"  he  half  shouted,  "and  tell  me  for 
what  end  you  have  been  fooling  me  ull  Lb««e 
months." 

"  \  do  not  understand." 
"  Poor  child  !    Its  little  head  'lever  was  maiio 
to  untangle  such    Knotty  prohlemp      Will  y<m 
understand  if  I  ask  you  why  yo-.i'vj  led  me     j, 
like  a  blind  fool,  to  love  you  5*" 
"  Tom  !" 

"You  never  thought  of  it  be'  '  f: 
but  you  have  done  it,  and  I  Icvi 
now,  before  you  stir  u  step,  you  »'! 
whether  or  not  it  is  returuuii." 

1   do   loV'     >ou,  Tom — I  always 
dearly  as  if  \       were  my  brother." 

'•  Via  exceetlingly  obliged  to  you  ;  bti<,  aa  it 
happens,  I  don't  want  your  brotherly  love,  and 
I  sliali  take  the  first  opportunity  of  sending  a 
bullet  through  Mr.  Leicester  Cliffe's  heal.  I 
have  tlie  lionor,  Miss  Shirley,  to  bid  you  good 
I  night." 


ol  coutae ; 
y-ju.  And 
;il  I  ell  i'M 

v\— as 


"Tom,  stay  !  Tom,  for  God's  sake—" 
And  hero  the  voice  broke  down  ;  and  cover- 
ing her  face  with  both  hands,  she  uiiirit  inio  a 
hysterical  pMssioii  of  weeping.  Tom  turned, 
and  the  great  grieved  giant  heart,  so  iit  rv  iu  iUs 
wrath,  melted  like  a  boy's  at  sight  of  her  tears. 
He  could  ha^e  cried  himself,  but  for  Bhamc,  as 
he  flung  hi  .  df  down  n  the  biuoh  with  u  sob- 
bing groan. 


fe 


86 


UNMARKED ;  OR, 


'•OVicniow  could  you  Jo  it?  Bct^  could 
fou  treat  mo  so?  ' 

Sbe  catre  uver,  and  kneeling  beside  biin,  nut 
on  arm  round  hin  neck,  as  if,  indeed,  he  uad 
b  >cn  the  dear  brutlier  slie  thought  him. 

'  O  Tom,  I  never  meant  it — I  never  meant 
it!" 

"  And  you  will  mar rj'  Leicester  ?" 

"You  know  I  must,  Tom  ;  but  you  will  be 
my  dear  brother  a) ways." 

He  turned  away  and  dropped  his  head  on  his 
arm. 

"  You  know  it  is  my  duty,  Tom.  And,  oh, 
you  inuBt  not  think  such  dreadful  things  of  me 
any  more  !     If  yoa  do,  I  shall  tii<*!" 

"Go!"'  he  said,  lifting  his  head  for  a  moment 
and  tiien  dropping  it  again.  '•  Go  and  li  avc 
me!  I  know,  Vic,  vou  are  un  angel,  and  1 — 1 
am  notiiing  but  a  mlserabh'  fool ! ' 

And  with  the  words  the  lioy'a  hiMirt  went  out 
from  Tom  Shirley,  and  never  came  back  any 
more.  . 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

victoria's  briual  ktb. 

In  the  bluest  of  suinnier  skies,  heralded  by 
the  rosiest  banners  of  cloud,  rose  up  the  sun  on 
Victoria  Shirley's  Wfcddini,'-ilay. 

Tlie  rose-gaiileus  aroumi  Custie  Cliffe  were  in 
lull  bloom,  the  bios  ai.d  butterflies  held  grand 
carnivals  there  ^il  the  long  suitry  days,  and  the 
uir  was  heavy  wuh  their  burden  of  perfume. 
The  chestu'.jtLi,  the  oaks,  ilie  poplars,  the  beeches 
were  out  in  '  iieir  greenest  garni- nts  ;  the 
swans  floated  about  -ircnelv  in  tiieir  hikes  ;  the 
Swiss  fiirir-house  wnd  rr.imiit.  in  the  glory  of 
new  paint;  ond  the  /.talian  cotuige  was  lust  in 
a  wildern '88  of  sceiiu-d  creepers  The  p<!a- 
cock  and  gazelles,  the  deer  Hnd  the  dogs,  had 
tine  tiui'S  in  the  June  Runshine;  aiid  ovei  all, 
the  bflhiier  floated  out  f'->m  the  fl-ig-towfT,  and 
everybody  knew  that  il  .vua  the  bridal-day  of 
the  Ueiivbs  of  Castle  Clitfe. 

And  v/it'iin  the  mansion  wonderful  were  the 
prt'imr.tii/ns.  At  nine  in  the  evening  the  cere- 
uiooy  was  to  take  pl.tce,  and  Lady  Agnes  iiad 
resolved  and  uio.  unced  that  a  grand  ball 
should  lullow;  tnd  nt,  twelve  the  next  day. they 
were  to  stt'jj  into  tlie  rs  and  bid  good-oye  to 
Ciiflonlea  f.^r  i»»  ■  io'it;  vara.  A  whole  regi- 
ment of  («nr'  i's  D  :'a  ban  comedown  from  T,ou- 
don  to  attend  to  the  up,-  -r,  which  was  to  be 
the  greatest  miracle  oi  aooi  •  ry  of  modern  times  ; 
and  another  regini'.it  oi  }  iing  peixiiif  in  the 
dress-making  depa-tmeul  tiliid  tlie  dressing- 
rooms  SI;;  H'ldrs.  lovitations  inui  been  sent  to 
half  the  ounty,  beisi '"^tt  ever  f!:>  niiinv  in  Lon- 
don— .<<  many,  in  fact,  tiia*  the  railway  trains 
had  tl  2r  first  oloss  conpit  crowded  all  day,  and 
their  j/repnetors  realized  n  emal]  fortune.  The 
gaoundr  were  all  to  be  ill'unin&ted  with  colored 
lamps,  hung  in  a')  uorts  of  faccifui  devices. 
i:  nd  there  was  to  be  such  a  feast  there  for  the 


tenantry,  with  music  and  dancing  afterward, 
and  such  a  display  of  fire-works,  and  such  h 
lot  of  boniires,  and  such  ringing  of  bells  and 
beating  of  drums,  and  shouting  and  cheerinu', 
•nd  general  joy,  as  bad  never  been  seen  or  heard 
of  before.  Lady  Agnes  declared  herself  dis- 
tracteii  and  nearly  at  death's  door,  although 
Mr.  Sweet,  who  had  come  back  from  his  short 
wedding-tour,  helped  her  as  much  as  lie  could, 
and  proved  himself  perfectly  invaluabli^.  And 
in  the  mid.«t  of  it  all,  the  bridegr  oiii  spent  his 
time  in  riding  over  the  sunny  iSuseex  downs, 
lounging  lazily  through  the  rooms  at  (Jliftoulea, 
and  smokiag  unheard-of  quantities  of  cigars. 
And  the  bride,  shut  up  with  Lady  Agnes  Knd 
the  dress-makers,  in  the  former's  room,  was 
hardly  ever  seen  by  anybody — least  of  all  by 
her  intended  husband.  But  the  wedding-day 
came,  and  all  the  snowy  gear  in  whicii  she  was 
to  be  tricked  out  lay  on  the  bed  in  the  Rose 
Room  —  gloV2S,  and  slippers,  and  vnil,  and 
wreath,  and  dress  ;  and  the  inlaid  table:*  were 
strewi:  with  magnilioent  presents,  every  one  of 
them  a  siiian  furtnne  in  itself,  to  be  publicly 
displayed  that  evening.  And  Vivia,  who  had 
been  shut  up  all  day  with  the  seamstresses,  n 
good  two  hours  before  it  was  time  to  dress,  she 
had  broken  from  her  captors  and  turned  to 
leave  the  room. 

"  Where  are  yon  going,  child  ?"  asked  Lady 
Agnes.     "  There  is  the  dressing-bell  ringing." 

••  1  don't  care  for  the  dressing-bell.  I'm  not 
going  down  to  dinner!" 

"  Where  are  you  going,  then  ?"' 
'Tlirough  the  house — the  dear  o!d  house — 
to  say  good-bye  to  it  before  I  go !     There  will 
be  no  lime  to-morrow,  1  suppose." 

*•  I  should  tliink  not,  indeed,  since  we  start 
at  noon  !  I  suppose  you  expect  the  house  will 
say  good-bye  to  you  in  return?" 

"  1  shall  think  it  does,  at  all  events.  I  wish 
we  were  not  goinu  away,  at  all." 

•'  Ur'  course,  you  do  !  1  never  l>new  y<ni  wisli- 
ing  for  anytliiiig  but  what  was  ul)6ur.i  1  Voii 
must  have  dinner  in  your  own  room,  and  n-- 
member  you  are  not  late  to  dress  for  your  wed- 
diiig  !     It  would  be  just  like  you  to  Jo  it!" 

Lady  Agnes  saileil  past  majestically  to  make 
her  own  toilet,  and  Vivia,  with  a  fluttering  lit- 
tle heart  \ft  Jiappy  while  she  trembled,  wnt 
from  room  to  room  to  take  a  last  look.  She 
had  nearly  finished  the  circuit,  even  to  the 
dreadful  Queen's  Room,  and  was  standing  in  tlie 
pieture-gallery,  looking  wistfully  nt  the  haunted 
faces  of  all  her  dead  ancestors,  when  some  one 
came  wearily  uji  the  stairs,  and,  turning,  she 
saw  Margaret  Shirley.  If  others  ha<i  been 
changing  within  the  hist  few  weeks,  so  had  Mar- 
uaiet ;  al-'ays  pale  and  thin,  she  moved  about 
like  a  colorless  ghost  now  ;  her  black  eyes,  the 
only  beauty  she  had  ever  possesned,  sunken  and 
hollow  ;  and  the  deep  lines  ah(»ut  the  nioulli 
ami  fo'chi-ud  told  tikeir  own  story  of  silent  suf- 


an<l,  s 
gent 

HtOpp( 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLUTE. 


87 


nflerwiir'l, 
anil  Biicli  H 
if  b<;U»  hikI 
d  cbeerink!, 
gen  or  beard 

horself  dia- 
)r,  aitluiuirb 
rii  bis  Bbopt 
UB  be  oouid, 
liable.     And 
nil  8|)<'Ut  hia 
188«'X  downs, 
atCliftoulert, 
M   of  oignrs. 
y  Agnes  Rnd 
B  room,  was 
wt  of  all   by 
wedding-day 
bicli  slie  was 

in  tbe  Rose 
id  viiil,  and 
id  tables  were 

every  one  ot 

be  publicly 
ivia,  wli<>  bad 
BOcnstresaeB,  i^ 
!  to  dress,  slie 
lid    turned  to 

"  asked  Lady 
ell  ringing." 
[)ell.     Tui  not 


r  old  bouse — 
)\    There  will 

(•ince  we  start 
tbe  bouse  will 

ivents.     I  wish 

Knew  youwisli- 

iil)siir>l !  Vou 
I  room,  and  r*;- 
i  for  yonr  wt.il- 
a  to  do  It !" 
bically  to  make 
[I  flultermg  lii- 

trt-mbled,  \y»'nt 

last  look.    She 
it,    even   to  tlie 

standing  in  tlie 
y  at  tlif  liaunlotl 

when  some  oiio 
id,  turning,  flie 

bers  litt'l  I'**''" 
■ks,  Ko  liad  Mivr- 
le  moved  about 
black  eyes,  tb*! 
s-i'd,  sunken  and 

bout  tlie  nioulli 
>ry  of  silent  8uf« 


n-ring.  She  shunned  everybody,  and  most  of 
(if  all,  her  brigbt  and  beauiiful  Cousin  Victoria, 
and,  seeing  ber  now  standing  ra<liant  and  refnl 
gent  in  the  nnaber  haze  of  tli«  sunset,  she 
Htopped,  and  made  a  motion  as  if  to  retreat. 
But  the  clear  sweet  voice  called  her  buck  : 

"  Don't  go,  Marguerite  ;  I  want  you.  Come 
here  I" 

Margaret  came  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
there  stopped. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to  see  you  all  tlie  week, 
hut  1  could   not  get  near  you.     Why  do  you 
keep  away  from  me?" 
"  I  do  not  keep  away  !" 
"  You  know  you  do  !    Why  are  you  not  cor- 
dial as  you  used  to  he  ?" 
'*  I  am  cordial !"  still  hovering  aloof. 
'•  Come  nearer,  then  !" 

Again  Margaret  moved  a  step  or  two,  and 
again  stopped. 

"  We  ought  to  be  friends,  Marguerite,  since  we 
are  counins!  But  we  bitve  not  been  friends 
this  long  time !" 

No  answer  Marguerite's  eyes  were  on  the 
floor,  and  ber  face  looked  petrined. 

"  You  are  to  be  one  of  my  bridemaids,  and 
my  traveling  companion  for  the  next  two 
A  ears  ;  and  nil  that  proves  that  we  ought  to  be 
ifriends. 

"You  mistake.  Cousin   Victoria;  I  am  not 
g'ji  Iff  to  be  your  traveling  oompanion!" 
•'No!     Grandmamma  said  so  1" 
*'  Probably  she  thinks  so  !"  ' 

"  You  are  jesting.  Marguerite  !'• 
"No!" 

"  Where  are  you  going  f  What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do?" 

"  Excuse  me ;  you  will  learn  that  at  the  prop- 
er time!" 

Vivia  looked  at  her  earnestly.     An  intelligent 
ligtit  wnc  in  her  eve,  and  a  scarlet  effusion  rising 
hot  to  her  fiice,  and  rapidly  fading  out. 
*•  You  are  unhappy  !" 
"Ami?" 

'•  Yes  ;  and  T  know  the  reason  !" 
The  I'laok  o\es  were  raised  from  the  floor  and 
fixeii  quietly  on  her  face. 
"Shall  I    "I I  you  what  it  is?" 
"A?  you  like!" 

Vivia  leaned  forward,  and  would  have  lai'K 
her  haiid  on  tho  others  shoulder,  but  Mar- 
gnerite  recoiled,  with  a  look  on  her  face  that  re- 
niin'led  her  cousin  of  Barbara.  She  drew  back 
proudly  and  n  little  cohlly. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  be  angry  with  me, 
fou-iii  Miiririieiile  !  Whatever!  have  done  has 
1h en  in  obedience  to  grandmamma's  commandi*. 
ll"  l>y  it  you  are  unhappy,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine !" 
The  black  eyes  were  si  ill  looking  at  her 
quietly,  and  r.ver  the  dark  grave  face  there 
dawned  a  smile  sad  and  scornful,  that  said  as 
plainly  as  words,  "Siie  talks,  and  knows  not 
what  she  is  talking  about !"  'out  before  she  could 


speak,  MademoiMlle  Jeannettc  came  tripping  np 
stairs. 

"  MademolBelle  Genevieve,  I  have  been 
searching  for  you  all  over.  My  Lady  says  you 
are  to  go  directly  and  take  your  dinner!" 

Margaret  had'  vanished  like  a  epirit  at  the 
appearance  of  the  maid  ;  so  Mademoiselle  Gen- 
evieve, with  a  little  sigh,  followed   her  cousin 
to  ber  boudoir,  where   the   slender   meal  was 
placed.     There  was  a  little  Sevres  cup  of  coflfee: 
a  petite  verre  of  sparkling  champn^;n«,  pate  h 
la  crime,  and  an   omelette  ;  and   Vivia  ate  the 
pnte,   and  tasted   the  omelette,  and  drank  the 
coffee  and  wine  with  a  very  good  appetite  ;  and 
had  only  just  finished  when  Lady  Agnes  came 
in,  and   announced   that  it  was  lime  to  drese. 
After  her,  came  half-a-dozen  bridemaids.  Cousin 
Margaret  among  the   rest,  and  they   were   all 
marshaled  into  Lady  Agnes'  dressinK-room,  and 
handed  over  to  a  certoin  French  artist,  who  had 
I  come  all  the   way  from   London  to  dress  their 
hair.     Vivia's  beautiful  tressen   required    least 
time  of  all,  for  they  were  to  be  simply  worn  in 
flowing  curls,  acconlini;  to  her  jaunty  custom  ; 
but  most  of  the  other  damsels  had  to  be  braid- 
ed, and  banded,  and  scented,   and  "  done  up" 
in   the  latest  style.     This   important   piece  of 
business  took  a  lung  time,  nn<l  wh^  n  it  was  over. 
Monsieur    withilrew.      The  femmea   de  chambre 
flocked  in  ;  and  Vivia,  under  the  hands  uf  Jean- 
nette  and  llortense,  went  to  her  own  room  to  be 
dressed.     Lady  Agn<  s  followed,   looking   as   if 
Bliti  had  something  on  her  mind. 

"There  is  no  time  to  lose  !"  she  said  to  the 
maids.  "  You  will  have  to  make  your  young 
lady's  toilet  as  fast  as  you  can  ;  and  Victoria, 
child,  don't  look  so  pale  !  A  little  paleness  is 
eminently  propc*  in  a'  bride  -,  but  I  want  you 
to  look  ever  so  pretty  to-night  I" 

"  I  shall  try  to,  ijrnniimniiima!  What  are  all 
the  people  about  down  stairs  ?" 

"'They  are  all  dressing,  of  course!  and  it  is 
time  I  was  following  their  example,"  glanoiug 
at  ber  watch. 

"Grandmamma,"  said  Vivia,  struck  with  a 
little  cloud  on  that  lady's  serene  brow,  "  you 
have  been  annoyed.     What  is  it  ?' 

"  It  is  nothing— tlist  is,  nothing  but  a  trifle  ; 
and  all  about  that  absurd  boy,  Tom !" 

Vivia  started  suddenly,  and  caught  lur  breath. 
Since  the  night  under  the  chestnuts  she  had  not 
snen  Tom — no  one  had  ;  irnd  it  was  a  daily  sub- 
ject of  wonder  and  inquiry. 

"  Grandmamma,  has  anything  happened  to 
him  ? "' 

Nothing  that  I  am  aware  of — certainly  noth- 
ing to  make  you  wear  such  a  frightened  face. 
But  what  will  you  think  when  I  tell  you  he  is 
ill  Cliftonlea  and  never  comes  here.  It  is  the 
most  annoying  and  absurd  thing  I  ever  beard 
of,  and  everybody  talks  about  it.*' 

"  How  do  you  know  he  is  in  Cliftonlea?" 

"  Your  papa  saw  him  last  night,     lie,  an^ 


nil 


S8 


UNMA8KKD;  OR, 


CApUiii  Dunglae,  and  toino  raure  uf  tbe  gentln  |  alruoat  m  d>-Hr  to  her  aa  Tom,  and  wbose  life 
uieu  li::.>i  l><:tu  uiit  nt  tilt;  mt-et  of  tliu  Duke  of  ahe  liad  euibittertid  like  Lia  :  uf  tliti  firat  viait 


li::,d  li<:t'U  uiit  Ht  tlie   tnt'ot  of  tlio  Duke  of 

B 'a  liuiinda  ;  and,  riding  liuiuti  about  dark, 

tJHiy  Haw  liiin  down  tlieru  near  tbc  bet'cit  wuuda. 
Tiioy  citllt'd  to  liiiii,  but  bti  disappeiireii  ainontr 
thu  irt'».'rt,  and  the  peoplo  here  have  done  uotli- 
iiig  but  talk  of  it  all  diiy  diiy  ioii«:.  llogePB, 
the  gau>t;kee|ii-r,  Buya  he  had  aecn  Tiim  libunf- 
ing  tlie  })lacu  in  Ihj  t>tnkiigi-Bt  nianuer  for  the 
last  few  <lay8,  iia  if  he  wat»  atVaid  ;o  be  st-en." 

Tli«  paloiieBd  with  whifih  the  speaker  bad 
found  fault  .locjjc-nin!  ad  Vivia  listened,  and  her 
heart  aeeiU'U'>l  to  atand  atill. 

*'  It  ia  the  nioBt  unaccountable  thhig  I  ever 
beard  of;  and  I  never  saw  your  papa  ho  vexed 
about  a  trifle  aB  'lo  ia  about  thia,  1  oaiinot  un- 
dcratand  it  all.'* 

But  Iter  granddaughter  could  ;  and  aha  avert- 
e**  'ur  fice  that  grand iiiuiunta'a  sharp  eyes 
uiitj  a  not  read  the  Ule  it  told.  Tiie  eagle  tjyea 
Buw,    however,    and    her    arm    woa    suddenly 


irraaped 
^      V.c 


ictoria,  you  ci  n  rend  Mh*  riddle.     I  aee  it 


ahd  had  embittered  like  hia  ;  uf  the  tirat  viait 
to  England  and  to  thia  beloved  home,  where 
ahe  had  met  thia  alately  grundmamma  aud  idol- 
ized father;  and  then,  more  vividly  than  all 
the  reat,  came  back  the  hrat  meeting  with  Bar 
bara  Black.  Agaii  ahe  wna  kneeling  in  thu 
DeniiMi'a  Towvr  will:  Margar  t  crouoUiiig  in  a 
corner,  her  black  eyea  ahining  like  Bta  a  in  ita 
gloom— Tom  at  her  feet,  bleeding  imd  lielplesa  , 
the  raging  aea  upon  them  in  itd  might;  the 
black  night  aky  ;  ihu  wtiiliug  wind  und  lashing 
rain,  and  a  little  figure  iu  a  frail  skitf  flying 
over  the  pillowa  to  save  them.  They  had  been 
so  good  to  her,  aud  had  loved  her  ao  well — 
Barbiiia  and  Mari^aret ;  but,  aomehow,  ahu  had 
alienated  iheui  all,  iind  they  loved  her  no  long- 
er. What  wua  it  that  was  wanting  in  her  "i  what 
waa  thia  string  out  of  luue  that  had  made  the 
discord  y  Was  ahe  only  a  sounding  braas  aud 
tinkling  cjri.i'ml,  and  was  the  real  germ  of  good 
wanting  in  her  after  all  f  Vivia's  blue  eyea 
were   lull  of  tears,  but  ahe  could  not  tind  the 


iu  your  eyea.     When  did  you  meet  Tom  last?"   jarring  chorda  ;  and  now  uU  that  was  post,  and 


Ko  answer. 

"  Speak  !"  said  the  lady,  low  but  imperiously. 
••  Whan  was  it?" 

"  Last  Monday  night." 

•'  WhtMo  -r 

"  Out  under  the  chestnuts." 

•'  What  did  In;  say  to  you  ♦" 

*'  Grainluianima,  dou"t  ask  ine  !" 

And  Lliu  pule  cheek  turned  scarlet. 

Liuiy  Agnea  looked  at  her  a  moment  with 
her  cold  and  piercing  eyes,  aud  then  dropjxjd 
her  arm. 

"1  see  it  all,"  she  said,  a  haughty  flush  dye- 
ing her  oW»'  delicate  cheek.  "  He  has  been 
making  a  le  of  himself,  and  has  got  wliat  he 
deserved,  ile  ia  wise  to  stay  away  ;  if  he  comes 
within  reach  of  ine,  he  will  probably  hear  some- 
thing u'oru  '.o  the  point  than  he  heard  under 
under  the  chestnuts!  Wheu  I  am  dressed,  i 
will  coine  back." 

The  tliin  lips  were  coinpreased.  The  proud 
eyea  flasliing  blue  flame  >.'  Lady  Agnes  swept 
out  of  thu  rose-room.  If  looks  were  lightning, 
and  Tom  Shirley  uear  enough,  he  would  cer- 
tainly never  make  love  to  auy  one  else  on 
earth ! 

But  Vivia'a  face  had  changed  aadly,  and  she 
stood  under  the  bauds  of  the  two  maids  all  un- 
cousoiouH  of  their  doings  and  their  [ireeenco, 
and  thinking  only  of  hira.  She  thought  of  a 
thousand  otiier  things,  too — things  almost  for- 
gotten. Her  whole  life  seemed  to  pass  like  a 
panorama  before  her.  She  thought  dimly, 
08  we  think  of  a  oonfused  dream,  of  a  poor 
home,  and  a  little  playmate  that  had  becu  hera 
long,  long  ago  ;  then  of  the  ouiet  content  iu 
her  .'.ear  Franco,  where  year  after  year  paaaed 
ao  aerenely  ;  of  the  pleaaant  chateau,  where  her 
holidays  were  apeut ;  of  Claude  who  hud  been 


a  new  day  was  dawning  for  her.  Her  whole 
life  wu«  changed  ,  but  tlie  dark  vail  of  Futurity 
was  down,  and  it  was  well  for  her  she  could  not 
aeu  what  was  beyond  it. 

And  while  Vivia  sighed  and  mused,  the  hand- 
maidens  were  going  on  with  their  work,  and  tho 
moments  were  flying  fast.  The  wreath  unJ 
vail  were  on  ;  the  diamond  necklace  and  brace- 
lets clasped  ;  the  last  ribbon  an. I  fold  of  lacc 
arrange.!,  and  the  door  waa  opened,  and  I^ady 
Agnes,  iu  velvet  and  jewela,  looking  still  youth- 
ful and  unmiatakably  fair,  re  appeared.  At 
her  coming,  Vivia  awoke  from  her  dream.  She 
had  something  to  do  besides  dream,  now. 

"Ah!  y<)U  have  flnished  I"  was  uiy  lady's 
cry.  *Turu  round,  Victoria,  and  let  me  sue 
you!" 

Victoria,  who  bad  not  once  Been  herself, 
turncil  round  with  a  bright  face. 
•'  Will  I  do,  gi-uudmamuiay" 
"  It  is  charmiug!  Itiasujyerb!  It  ia  love- 
ly i"  aaid  Lady  Agnes,  in  a  aort  of  rapture. 
"My  child,  you  never  looked  so  beautiful  be- 
fore  in  your  life  !" 

Hearing  this.  Vivio  turned  t^  look  for  he^ 
aelf,  and  a  radiont  glow  came  to  her  face  tit  the 
sight.  Lovely  she  must  have  looked  in  any- 
thing. I>azzring  ahe  appeared  in  her  bridiil 
dress.  The  dress  itaelt  was  euperb.  It  had 
been  imported  from  Paris,  and  had  cost  a  for- 
tune. It  waa  of  rich  white  velvet,  the  heavy 
skirts  looped  with  cluatera  of  creamy-while 
roaes,  the  ooraage  and  sleeves  embroidered  with 
seed-pearls,  and  a  bouquet  of  jessamine  flowers 
on  the  breaat.  The  arching  throat,  the  laige 
aud  exquisitely-moulded  arms  were  claepc.l 
with  diamonds  that  atrenuied  like  rivers  of 
light  ;  the  sunny  curls  showered  to  the  siuiill 
waiat  orowned  with  u  wreath  of  jeweled  vm^v- 


TIIE  HEIUESS  OF  CABTLE  CLIFFE. 


80 


nd  wboBe  life 
,lie  tirat  visit 
home,  wlitsrc 
iiuu  Hud  idul- 
iJly  lliun  ftll 
lag  with  liar 

ueliiig  >>>  I'll" 
ouoUiiig  in  a 
c  tilii  a  in  iu 
nu<\  lielplvdil  i 
d   niiglit;  lliti 
uiiii  Itisliing 
111  akitf  living 
'Ley  liad  been 
her  8o  well- 
how,  alio  had 
1  her  no  long- 
j  in  her  V  what 
Imd  luadu  the 
iiig  braaa  uud 
germ  of  gooil 
a'«    blue    eyea 
not  tind  the 
waa  poat,  and 
Her  whole 
jl  of  Futurity 
she  could  not 


used,  the  hand- 
r  work,  and  the 
le  wreath  and 
lace  and  bruco- 
iil  fold  of  lac>; 
■ned,  and  Lady 
icing  still  youtli- 
appeared.  At 
ler  dream.  She 
am,  now. 
was  my  lady's 
and  lei   uie  hcu 

so  Been  hereelf, 


rb!  It  ia  love- 
lort  of  rapture. 
ao  beautiful  he- 

to  look  for  her 
)  her  face  at  tlie 

looked  in  any- 
d  in  her  bridul 
Buperb.     It   had 

Imd  coat  a  for- 
L'lvet,  the  heavy 
[>f  creamy-while 
(mbroidered  witli 
jeasiiiuine  floweiu 
throat,  the  large 
IB  were  claBjied 
id  like  rivers  of 
red  to  the  suiiill 
f  jeweled  oraiig*?- 


bluaaomi  Bparkling  with  diamond  dewdropa ; 
and  over  all,  and  aweeping  tlie  carpet,  a  bridal 
vail,  euuii'oiing  the  shining  tigin-e  like  a  cloud 
of  niist.  but  Lhe  lovely  Inad,  liie  perfect  face 
drooping  in  iia  exqumii.e  modesty,  and  blush- 
ing and  smiling  at  iij*  own  beauty,  neither  lace, 
uor  velvets,  nor  jewels  were  aught  eonipared  to 
that. 

"  My  darling  !"  oried  Lndy  Agnes,  iu  an  ec- 
Btasy  very,  very  unoommoii  with  her,  "you 
look  lil'e  an  angel  to-mglit!" 

*'  Dear,  dear  grandmamma,  I  care  for  nothing 
if  I  only  please  you      Are  the  rest  all  ready?" 

''  i  have  Uot  been  to  see.  but  1  am  goiir      Do 

J'ou  know,"  lowering  her  voice,  "u  moat  aiugu- 
ar  thing  Itaa  occurred." 

"WhatV" 

"  It  is  only  half  an  hour  to  the  time  appointed 
for  thu  ceremony,  the  drawing-room  id  filled, 
everybody  ia  there,  but  the  one  that  jhuuld  be 
there  most  of  all." 

"  Who'flthat?' 

"There's  a  question!  Leicester  ClifTe,  of 
courae." 

'•  Una  he  not  come,  then?" 

"Ko,  indeed;  and  when  he  does  come,  lie 
flhall  be  taken  most  severely  to  task  for  this  de- 
lay. The  man  who  would  keep  auch  a  bride 
waiting,  deserves,  deserves  —  the  bastinado  I 
No,  that  would  be  ..oo  good  for  him ;  deavrves 
to  lose  her." 

Vivia  laugkjed. 

"  C)  grandmamma,  that  would  be  too  bad. 
Ilns  Uncle  Kolaml  comuV'' 

"  Uncle  Roland  has  been  here  fully  an  hour, 
and  knows  nothing  a^out  the  matter.  It  ap> 
pears  the  young  gentleman  has  been  out  riding 
all  day,  and  never  umdo  his  appearance  untn 
dimmer,  when  he  drank  more  wine  than  is  usual 
or  prudent  with  bridegrooms,  and  behaved  him- 
self in  a  manner  that  was  very  strange  alto- 
gether. 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  kiHiw,  he  was  queer  and  fixcited, 
Bir  Roland  says ;  but  he  thought  little  of  that, 
considering  tlie  circumatances.  He  has  setMi 
noiliiiig  of  him  since,  and  came  here  in  the  full 
expeetalion  of  seeing  him  hero  h.  fore  him." 

"  Well,  grandmamma,  he  will  be  here  before 
the  end  of  the  half-hour,  I  suppose,  and  that 
will  lio,  won't  it?" 

"  It  will  do  for  the  wedding,  but  it  won't  save 
him  from  a  severe  Caudle  lecture  from  lue — a 
sort  of  foretaste  of  what  he  may  expect  of  you 
in  the  future.  Everything  seems  to  ho  going 
wrong,  and  I  feel  as  if  it  would  be  the  greatest, 
relief  to  box  somebody's  ears." 

Lady    Agnes   looked    it,   and   Vivia  laughed 

agiiin. 

"  You  might  box  mine,  grandmamma,  and  re- 
lieve your  feelingH,  only  it  would  spoil  my  vail, 
and  Jeannetle  would  never  forgive  you  for 
that." 


But  Lady  Agnea  was  knitting  Ler  brows,  and 
uot  paying  the  leadt  attention  to  her. 

"  I'o  think  he  should  be  late  on  such  occasion  ! 
it  is  unheard  of— il  is  outrageous!" 

"  O  granlmamuia.  dun'',  worry.  I  am  sure 
be  cannot  luip  ;  perlnij/*,  he  >s  come  now." 

"  Here  come  your  bndeiiiaiils,  at  all  events," 
said  Lady  Agnes,  as  th<;  conimuniculing  door 
opened,  and  the  bevy  of  gay  girls  tioiiled  iu, 
robed  in  white,  and  crowned  wiih  flowers,  and 
gathered  round  the  bride  like  ..lutterflits  round 
a  rose,  and 

"  O  how  charming!  O  how  lovely  !  ()  how 
beautiful!"  was  the  univeisal  cry.  "  Vou  are 
looking  your  very  best  to-night,  Victoria." 

"  So  she  ought,  and  so  will  you  all,  >oung  la- 
dies, on  your  wedding-night,"  said  Lady  Agnes. 

"Is  it  time  to  go  down?  has  everybody 
come?"  inquired  one. 

"  It  ia  certainly  time  to  go  down,  but  I  do  not 
know  whether  anybody  has  come.  Hark !  is 
uot  that  your  papa's  voice  in  the  hall,  Victoria?" 

"  Vea  Do  let  him  come  in,  grandmamma. 
I  know  he  would  like  to  see  me  before  gving 
down  stairs." 

Lady  Agnes  opened  the  door,  and  saw  her 
son  coming  rapidly  through  the  ball,  looking 
very  nale  and  stern. 

"  Has  Leicester  come  yet?"         *  * 

"No!"  • 

"  (toot!  Heinens !     And  it  is  nine  o'clock  !" 

"  Exactly.     And  all  those  people  below  are 
gathered  in  grou|>s,  and  whiapering  mysterioua-  . 
ly.     By  Heavens!  I  feel  tempted  to  put  a  bul-  ' 
let  through  his  head  when  he  does  come." 

"O  Cldfel  somethin|{  haa  happened!" 

"  Perhaps — is  the  bride  ready  ?'' 

"  Yes ;  come  in,  she  wishes  to  see  you— the 
bride  iti  ready  ;  but  where  is  the  britlegroom?" 

"Where,  indeed?  But  don't  alarm  yourself 
yet :  he  may  come  after  all." 

Ue  followed  his  mother  into  the  bride's  maid- 
en bower,  and  that  dazzling  young  lady  cauu) 
forward  with  a  ra<tiant  face. 

"  I'apa,  how  do  I  look?  ' 

"  Don  t  ask  me  ;  look  in  the  glaaa.  You  are 
all  aiigela,  every  one  of  you."' 

He  touched  his  lips  to  the  pretty  brow,  and 
tried  to  laugh,  but  it  was  a  failure ;  and  then, 
nervous  aa  a  girl,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
with  anxiety,  he  hurried  out  and  down  atairs,  to 
see  if  tlie  truant  had  ooiue. 

No,  he  had  not  come.  The  bonHres  were 
blazing,  the  joy-bells  were  ringing,  the  park 
was  one  blaze  of  rainbow  light,  all  the  clocks  in 
the  town  were  striking  nine,  and  Leicester  Clifi'e 
had  not  como.  Sir  Roland,  nearly  beside  him- 
Heif  with  mortification  and  rage,  was  striding 
up  and  dov     the  hall. 

"  Is  she  ready  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Ye?,"  said  the  Colonel,  uaing  the  worda  of 
hia  mother,  "  the  bride  is  ready   and  waiting, 
'  but  where  the  devil  ia  the  bridegroom  ?" 


90 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

T7IIKRK  TIIK    DllIDKCmuOM  WAR. 

The  waning  Bunli^lit  of  Vivia'H  brid(il-<Iay, 
Ktrtiaming  tlirougli  tlio  rather  dirty  windows  of 
Peter  Biaok'a  ootingo  full  on  Mr.  SilveHtor 
Sweet,  titling  buaide  tlio  hciirth,  and  talking 
very  enniesily  indeed.  Hiu  only  listener  was 
old  Judith,  who  had  ouvcrcd  bcr  face  with  her 
hands,  and  was  moaning  and  crying,  and  rook- 
ing to  and  fro. 

**  My  dear  Judith — my  good  Judith  I"  he  wa« 
■oothiu<^ly  saying,  "  don't  distrosa  yourself,  there 
is  no  oooasiuu— not  the  leiist  in  tlio  world  !" 

But  his  good  Judith  was  not  to  he  oomfortod, 
■be  only  lilted  up  lit-r  voice  and  wept  the  loud- 
er. 

"  You  knew  all  along  it  must  come  to  this  ;  or 
if  you  didn't,  you  ought  to  have  known  it.  Such 
guilty  secrets  cannot  be  kept  for  ever  !" 

"And  they  will  put  me  la  prison;  they  will 
transport  me  ;  muvlx'  they  will  hang  mo!  Oh, 
I  wish  I  was  dead !  I  wish  I  was  dca  I  1"  wailed 
the  old  woman,  rocking  t*  that  extent  ti>»t 
there  seemed  some  danger  of  her  rooking  off 
her  stool. 

•'Nonsense.  They  will  neith«r  put  you  in 
prison,  transport,  nor  hang  you.  Though," 
added  Mr.  Sweet,  politely,  "  you  know  you  de- 
servo  it  all." 

"And  tlfcn  there's  Barbara!"  cried  old  Ju- 
dith, paying  no  attention  whatever  to  him,  and 
brea'icing  out  into  a  fr';«li  bnwt  of  wailing. 
♦•Sho'llWll  me.  I  know  she  will.  She  always 
was  tierce  and  savngc  ;  oiul  wlien  she  hoars  this. 
Oh  dear  mo  !  I  wish  I  was  dead  —I  do  1" 

'•  Yes  ;  but,  my  dear  old  soul !  we  oan't  spare 
you  yet  a  while.'  Now,  dry  up  your  teaiii  ond 
be  rciiBonabltt ;  now  do.  Remember,  if  all 
doisn't  go  well,  I'll  hang  your  son !' 

*'  Oh,  I  don't  expect  onything  but  thai  we'll 
all  hanu'  together!  Oh,  I  wish  1  was  dead!'"  re- 
iterated Judith,  detorraiued  to  stick  to  that  to 
the  last. 

"  I'll  soon  gratify  that  wish,  you  old  Jojebel !" 
saiil  Mr.  Sweet,  setting  his  teeih,  'if  you  don't 
stop  your  whimpering.  What  did  you  do  it  for, 
if  you  are  such  a  coward  oKout  it  now  V" 

"  I  didn't  expect  it  woul.l  ever  bo  found  out. 
Oh  I  I  wish—" 

£zasi)crated  beyond  enduranoe,  Ikt  oompan- 
ion  seized  tho  tongs;  and  old  Judith,  with  a 
shrill  shrielv,  cowered  back  autl  held  out  Iu3r 
arms  in  terror. 

"  Be  still,  then,  or  by "  (Mr.  Sweet  swore 

a  frightful  oath,  that  would  bave  dune  honor  to 
Mr.  Blftck  himself )  "III  smash  your  head  for 
you  I  Stop  your  whining  and  hear  ti»  reason. 
Arc  you  prepared  to  take  your  oulh,  oouoeruing 
tho  story  1  have  to  tell  ?" 

Again  Judith  took  to  rooking  and  wringing 
her  liands. 

"  I  must— I  must — I  must!  and  I  will  be  kill- 
ed for  it,  I  kaoir  1" 


••  Yoa  won't,  I  tell  you.  Neither  you  noi 
your  son  will  oome  to  harm.  I'll  see'to  tliati 
But  mind,  if  you  don't  swear  to  everything, 
straight  and  true,  I'll  have  both  of  you  hang- 
ing, by  the  end  of  the  month,  as  high  ns  U»- 
man  I'"* 

Judith  set  lip  such  n  howl  of  despair  at  this 
pleasant  intimation,  that  the  lawyer  had  <> 
grasp  the  tongs  again,  and  brandish  them  with- 
in half  an  inoh  of  her  uose,  l)eforo  she  would 
Consent  to  subside. 

'*  My  worthy  old  lady,  I'll  knock  your  hrains 
out  if  yon  try  that  again  ;  and  so  I  give  you 
nolioo!  Yon  have  ouly  to  swear  ti  the  facts 
before  Colonel  Shirley,  or  any  other  person  or 
persons  eonoerned,  and  you  will  be  all  right! 
Stick  to  the  truth,  through  thick  and  thin  ; 
there's  nothing  like  it,  and  I'll  protect  you 
through  it  all !'' 

Judith  s  only  answer  was  to  rook  and  whine, 
and  whimper  uismally. 

"  You  know,"  snid  Mr.  Sweet,  looking  at  her 
■I'tttlily,  "you  had  no  advisers,  no  accomplices. 
You  plotted  the  whole  thing,  aud  carried  it  oat 
alone.     Di.lnt  you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  did— I  did  !" 

"  You  had  the  very  natural  desire  to  benefit 
your  own  tlesh  and  blood,  and  you  thought  it 
would  never  be  found  out.  Your  daughter-in- 
law  went  crazy,  was  sent  to  a  lunntio  iisylum, 
and  you  told  your  son,  on  his  return  from  — 
no  matter  where — that  she  was  dead.  Didn't 
youy 

"  Yes,  yes !     Oh  dear  me,  yes !" 

"  Some  things  that  you  dropped  maile  nio 
■n^pooL  I  accused  you,  and  in  your  guilt  yuii 
confessed  all.     Didn  t  you  V 

"  Yes  ;  I  s'pose  I  did.  I  don't  know.  Oh,  I 
wish  I  was — " 

For  the  third  .time  her  companion  grabbed 
the  tongs,  and  the  old  woman  subsided  again 
into  pitiful  whimpering. 

"Now  you  know,  Judith  Wildman,  if  you  ag- 
gravate lue  Loo  niuoh,  what  will  bo  tlio  conse- 
quence. 1  am  going  np  to  the  Caslle,  to  tell 
this  story  to-night — a  sliameful  story,  that  you 
should  have  told  lung  ago — and  you  mucit  liuid 
yourself  prepared  to  swear  to  it,  when  called 
upon  to  do  so.  Your  son  knew  nothing  of  it  — 
ho  knows  nothing  of  it  yet  ;  so  no  blame  at- 
taches to  hiiu,  and  all  will  end  rieht. 

That  might  be  ;  but  Judith  couldn't  see  it,  nnd 
her  misery  was  a  piteous  sight  to  behold.  Fur 
that  matter,  Mr.  Sweet  himself  did  not  look  too 
much  nt  his  ep^e,  nothing  near  so  much  as  was 
his  suave  wont,  and  tho  paleness  that  lay  on  Ida 
f^ce,  and  the  excited  llgut  that  gleamed  in  his 
c^es,  were  much  the  siime  as  had  been  seen  on 
his  weddiug-day. 

"  The  whole  extent  of  the  matter  is  this,"  ho 
said,  laying  it  down  with  the  tiuger  of  his  ri;.;ht. 
hand  ou  Uio  palm  of  his  left :  "  I  will  tell  llie'' 
story,  and  yuu  will  be  called  upon.    11  you  do' 


ash 


for 

pie; 

a  S( 

crir 

eoz 

rcc 

Mn 

tur 

but 

not 

rut 

Uu^ 

daj 

Wel 

tti-ej 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFPli 


91 


yoa  ooi 
e'to  that  I 
'orytliiug, 
,'ou  haiijf 
b  nt  Ua- 

ir  at  tbis 
r  hail  o 
leio  with- 
ib«  wuulJ 

int  brains 

give  you 

th»  facts 

porsdii  or 

All  riglitt 

aud   tbin  ; 

■t>teot  you 

tn<l  whine, 

ing  at  her 
looitiplioes. 
Tied  it  out 


)  to  benofit 
thought  it 
aughlcr-in- 
tio  Kdylum, 
ru  froiu  — 
»a.     Didn't 


made   nio 
r  guilt  y^u 

low.     Oil,  I 

ion  grabbed 
sided  agaio 

1.  if  you  ag- 
)  tlio  conse- 
iisLie,  to  tell 
ry,  Hint  yott 
II  IlUltit  bold 
wlifii  called 
,biiit;  <»f  it  — 
lo  blame  at- 
t. 

n't  see  it,  and 
jobold.  ¥oT 
not  look  too 
much  as  was 
at  lay  on  bis 
tjauiud  in  his 
)Ocu  seen  »>u 

r  is  tliis,"  lio 
p  of  bis  ri'^ht. 
will  tell  ilie'' 
.    It  vou  do'; 


right,  aud  keep  to  tlio  truth,  ynu  and  your  son 
will  get  otf  Hout  free,  and  I  will  sen  I  you  away 
from  this  place  riober  than  you  ever  wtre  bsfore 
ill  your  lives.  If,  un  the  contrary,  yuu  buDtfto, 
and  niaUn  a  mess  of  it,  out  will  oouie  the  piia- 
sunt  little  episodL-  of  Jack  Wildmnn,  who  will 
•wing  from  the  top  of  tbe  CliftonlcM  Jail,  iin- 
mediately  after  th«  assizes ;  and  you,  my  worthy 
soul  I  if  you  eHoaiio  a  similar  fate,  will  rot  out 
the  rest  of  your  liio  iu  the  workhnuso.  Do  you 
uiider8t:ind  thai.?" 

The  question  was  rather  superfluous,  for  Ju- 
dith understood  it  so  well  that  she  roiled  oiTbsr 
Bto<d,  and  worked  on  the  floor  in  ii  Hort  of  fit. 
Iliitiier  dismayed,  the  lawyer  jumped  up  ;  but, 
Hi  iu  the  course  of  a  ILttls  more  kicking  and 
struggling,  she  worksd  herself  out  of  it  again, 
into  a  state  of  ijioaning  und  ga«ping,  he  took 
bis  hat  and  glovcft  and  turned  to  go. 


You  ba4T  better  gel  up  off  llio  floor,  Mrs. 
odvice.     "  Good-bye.     Don't  go  to  bed.     Y«u 


Wildinaii,  and  lake  a 


1:1  up  ott 
sluidc  ,' 


was  his  parti Dj 


wid  probably  be  wanteil  before  morning.' 

lie  walked  away,  turning  one  backward  glance 
IB  the  waving  trees  at  the  IhirU,  Hiniling  as  he 
did  so  The  tishornien  he  met  pulled  off  thtir 
hats  to  the  steward  of  their  liidy,  and  never  be- 
fore had  they  known  him  to  bo  ho  condeseeiid- 
ingly  gracious  in  returning  it.  As  he  pisso  I 
through  tliu  town,  too,  everybody  noticeii  that 
the  lawyer  was  in  unooinuiou  go'W  humor,  even 
for  him;  and  ho  quite  beaincil  on  tbe  servant- 
maid  who  opened  the  door  of  bid  uwn  house, 
when  he  knocked.  It  was  a  very  nioe  house — 
was  Mr  Sweet's — with  a  spacious  garden  orouiid 
jl,  belonging  lo  Lady  Agnes,  ami  always  occu- 
pied by  her  agent. 

"Wlieie  is  your  Mistress,  Elizabeth?"  ho 
UKed 

••  Misses  bo  in  tho  parlor,  sir,  if  you  please  1" 
Two  doors  ilanked  the  ball.  He  opened 
one  to  the  right  and  entered  a  prett)-  room — 
medallion  caqnit  011  the  lloor,  tasteful  paper- 
hain,'int,'8  on  tho  walls,  nice  tables  and  sofas, 
some  pictures  In  gilt  frame.-,  a  largo  marble- 
topi>ed  table  strewn  with  b«.)olvS  iu  the  centre 
of  tho  floor,  and  a  groat  many  China  dogs  and 
cats  on  tho  mantle- piece.  iJut  the  window— 
for  it  bad  only  one  win  iow,  this  parlor— was 
pleasanter  than  all— a  deep  bay-wuidow,  with 
!i  sort  of  divan  all  round  it;  and  \.hen  the 
crimson  moreen  curtains  »vere  down,  it  was  the 
coiiest  litllo  room  in  the  world.  It  was  iu  this 
recess,  lying  among  soft  cushions,  that  the  new 
Mrs.  8weot  bad  speutall  lar  time  since  her  re- 
turn to  Oiifionlea;  and  it  was  there  her  lais- 
bund  expected  to  find  her  now.  There  she  was 
not,  however ;  but  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  with  the  air  of  a  trngedy-queen.  Neither 
Uachel  nor  tho  Mrs.  Siddons  in  their  palmiest 
days  could  have  surpassed  it.  llcr  hands 
Wire  clenelied ;  her  eyes  wero  flaming ;  her 
Biep  had  a  fieroely-motallJo  riug ;  her  dark  pro- 


fusion of  hair,  as  if  to  add  to  the  effect,  was  un- 
bound and  screaming  around  her  ;  and  had 
any  BtraDKt;r  entered  Just  then,  and  seen  her, 
bis  thought  would  have  been,  that  he  liad  got 
by  mistake  into  the  ceil  uf  some  private  lunalio 
asylum. 

"  What  uewtantram  is  t'ds  my  lady  has  sot 
into?"  (bought  Mr.  Swewt,  quailing  a  litllo  be- 
fore tho  terrible  light  in  his  la<iy's  eyes,  as  h« 
shut  the  door  and  stood  looking  ut  her  with  his 
back  to  it.  "  My  dear  Barbara,  what  is  th«» 
matter?" 

Tho  only  answer  as  she  strode  past  wug  a 
glare  out  01  the  flushing  eyes,  which  ho  cower- 
ed inwardly  under,  even  as  he  repeated  tbe 
question. 

"  My  dear  Barbara,  what  is  the  matter?" 

She  stopped  this  time  and  stood  before  him, 
looking  so  muob  like  a  frenzied  mimiao,  that 
his  sallow  complexion  turned  a  sort  of  lea- 
grccn  witii  terror. 

"  Don't  ask  mo  !"  she  said,  fairly  his^iof;  the 
words  through  her  closed  tectb,  "don't  I  There 
is  II  spirit  within  uie  that  is  iiotfrom  heaven  ;  and 
the  ln&i  you  of  all  people  say  to  ine  to-nigbt, 
tho  better  I" 

"  But  my  dear  Barbara — " 

"  Your  dear  Barbara  !"  she  broke  out,  witU  ^1 

Eassionate  seorn.     '*  U  blind,  blind  fool!  blind,  ,,, 
esotted  fool  that  I  was  ever  to  ootue  to  this  t    ■ 
Go,   I  tell  you  I     If  you  have  any  mercy  on   , 
ourself,  go  and  leave!     I  am  not  myself.     I   , 

am  mad,  and  you  are  not  safe  in  the  samo  |, 
room  wiUi  me  !'' 

'■  Barbara,  boor  mo  1" 

-'  ITot  a  word,  not  a  syllable.    I  have  awoke  , 
from  my  trance — the  horrible  trance  in  which  I 
was  inveijjle  I  to  mairy  you.     Man  !"  she  cried, 
in  a  sort  of  frenzy,  stopping  before  him  again, 
'•  if  you   had   murdered  me,  I  could  have  for- 
given you ;  but  for  making  me  your  wife,  1  cau   , 
never    forgive    you — never,    until    my    dying   . 
day  !•• 

"  Barbara  !" 

But  sho  would  not  bear  him ;  for  the  time, 
she  was  really  insane,  and  tore  up  and  down 
tho  rooit  like  a  very  fury. 

"  O  miserable,  driveling  idiot  that  I   have 
been !     Sunken,   degraded   wretch   that  I  am,    , 
ever  to  have  married  this  thing !     And  you, 
poor,  {utifvl  hound,  whom  I  bate  and  despise 
nore  than  any  other  creature  on  God's  eurtb, 
,'(iu  forced  mo  into  this  marriage  when  I  was 
eside  myself,  and  knew  not  what  I  did!     You,    , 
knowing  I  loved  another,  cajoled  me  into  mar-    , 
rying  yourself,-  and  I  hate  you  for  it!    I  bate    , 
you!     I  hate  you!" 

Mr.    Sweet's    complexion,    from    sea-green, 
turned  livid  and  g'astly  ;  but  his  voice,  though    > 
husky,  was  strangely  calm. 

♦'1  did  not  force  you,  Barbara  !    You  know    . 
know  what  you  married  mo  for — revenge !"  , 

**  Revenge !"  she  echoed,  breaking  into  a  byi-    , 


I 


i: 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


A 


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II  1.1 

11.25 


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Hiotographic 

^Sdences 

Corporalion 


2.    VEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MS80 

(716)  S72-4S03 


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92 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


terieal  laugh.  •'  Why,  man,  I  tell  'you,  one 
otlier  Buch  victory  would  cost  me  my  kingdom  ! 
Yes,  [  have  the  revenge  of  knowing  I  am  de- 
spised by  the  man  whom  I  love.  Do  yon  hear 
that,  Sylvester  Sweet— wliom  I  lovo!  Every 
hair  of  whose  head  is.  dearer  to  me  tlmn  your 
whole  miserable  soul  and  body !" 

Strange  lividness  this  in  Mr.  Sweet's  placid 
face !  Strange  fire  this  in  hia  calm  eye ;  but 
his  voice  was  steady  and  unmoved  etiil. 
"  Yon  forget,  Barbara,  that  he  jilted  you  !" 
"  And  you  dare  to  tannt  me  witii  that!"  she 
almost  shrieked,  all  her  tiger  passions  unchain- 
ed. "  Oh  that  I  had  a  knife,  and  I  would  drive 
it  to  the  hilt  in  your  heart  for  daring  to  say 
such  a  thin>r  to  me  !  Oh,  I  had  fallen  low  lie- 
fore — a  forsaken,  despised,  cast-off  wretch  ! 
but  I  never  sunk  entirely  into  the  slime  until  I 
married  you !  Yes.  he  jilted  me ;  but  I  love 
him  still — love  him  as  rauoh  as  I  hate  and  de- 
spise you !  Go,  I  tell  you  !  go,  and  leave  me, 
or  I  will  strangle  you  where  you  stand  !" 

She  was  mad.     He  saw  that  in   her  terrible 
&ce.     But  through  all  his  horror,  he  strove  to 
.  soothe  her. 

"  Barbara !  Barbara  !  let  me   say  one  word ! 
The  hour  for  full  and  complete  vengeance  has 
come  at  last!     To-night,  you  will  triumph  over 
him — over  them  all.     This  very  bride  shall  be 
torn  from  him  at  the  altar,  and   you  sliall  be 
^  ^.      proclaimed    Barbara — Great  Heavens !" 
,<sisu«\        She  had  been  standing  before  him,  br.t  she 
(     J     reeled  suddenly,  and  would  have  fcllen  'jad  he 
not  oauglit  her.    Tlie  frantic  fit  of  fury   into 
which  she  had  lashed   herself  had  given  way, 
and  with  it  all  her  mad  strength.     But  she  was 
not  fainting  ;  for,  at  his  hated  touch,  a  look  of  un- 
utterable  loathing  came  over  tlie  white  face, 
and,  witli  a  sort  of  expiring  effort,  she  lifted  her 
!,         bands  and  pushed  him  away. 
I  "  Go  !"  she  said,  rising  and  clinging  to  the 

P        table,   while  her  stormy  voice   was    scarcely 
'         louder  tlmn  a  whisper.     "  Go  I     If  you  do  not 
leave  me,  I  shall  die  !" 

He  saw  that  she  would.  It  was  written  in 
every  line  of  her  deathlike  face — in  every  quiv- 
er of  the  tottering  form  all  thrilling  witli  re- 
pulsion.    He  turned  and  opened  the  door. 

"  I  will  go,  then,  Barbara !"  he  said,  turning 
for  a  last  look  as  he  passed  out.  ♦'  I  go  to  ful- 
fill my  promise  and  complete  your  revenge  !" 

He  closed  the  door,  went  through  the  hall, 
down  the  steps,  along  the  graveled  walk,  and 
out  into  the  busy,  bustling  street.  And  how  was 
Mr.  Sweet  to  know  that  he  and  his  bride  had 
parted  for  ever  ? 

With  Mie  last  sounds  of  his  footsteps,  Barba- 
ra had  tottered  to  the  divan  and  sank  down 
among  the  cushions  with  a  prayer  in  her  heart 
she  had  not  strength  enough  to  utter  in  words, 
that  she  might  never  rise  again.  All  the  giant 
fury  of  her  passion  had  passed  away ;  but  she 
had  DO  tears  to  shed — nothing  to  do  but  lie  ' 


there  and  feel  that  she  had  lost  life,  and  that 
her  seared  heart  had  turned  to  dnst  and  ashes. 
There  was  no  wish  for  revenge  left ;  t!iat  was 
gone  with  her  strength — no  wish  for  anything 
but  to  lie  tliere  and  die.  She  knew  that  it  was 
his  wedding  night.  She  heard  carriage  after 
carriage  rolling  away  to  Castle  Cliffe,  and  she 
felt  as  if  the  wheels  of  all  were  crashing  over 
her  heart.  The  last. rosy  ray  of  the  daylight 
faded  ;  the  summer  moon  rose  up,  stealing  in 
through  the  open  curtains,  and  its  pale  light 
lay  on  the  bowed  young  head  like  the  pitying 
hand  of  a  friend. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  front  door — a 
knock  loud  and  imperative,  that  rang  from  end 
to  end  of  the  house.  Why  did  Bnrbara's  heart 
bound,  as  if  it  would  leap  from  her  breast? 
She  had  never  heard  that  knock  before.  There 
was  a  step  in  the  hall,  light,  quick,  and  decided 
—  a  voice,  too,  that  she  would  have  known  all 
the  world  over.  She  had  hungered  and  thirsted 
for  that  voice — she  had  desired  it  as  the  blind 
desire  sight. 

"  And  am  I  really  going  mad  ?"  was  Barbara's 
thought. 

It  was  no  madness.  The  door  was  opened, 
the  step  was  n  the  room,  and  Elizabeth,  the 
housemaid,  was  speaking : 

"  Misses  be  in  here,  Sir.     I'll  go  and  fetch  a 
light." 
'*  Never  mind  a  light." 

The  door  was  closed  in  Elizabeth's  face ;  the 
key  turned  to  keep  out  intruders,  and  some  one 
was  bending  over  her  as  she  lay,  or,  rather, 
crouched.  She  could  not  tell  whether  she  was 
sane  or  m'jd.  She  dared  not  look  up  :  it  must 
be  all  an  iliusioti.  What  could  he  be  doing 
here,  and  to-night  ? 
"  Barbara !" 

Oh,  that  voice !     If  this  was  madness,  she 
never  wished  to  be  sane  again. 
"  Bnrbara !" 

Some  one's  haif  was  touching  her  cheek — 
some  one's  hand  was  holding  her  own — the  dear 
voice  was  nt  her  ear 

"  Barbara,  have  you  no  word  for  me,  either 
of  hatred  or  forgiveness?  Will  you  not  even 
look  at  me,  Barbara?" 

She  lifted  her  face  for  one  instant.  Yes,  it; 
was  he,  pale  and  passionate — he  here,  even  at 
this  hour.  She  dured  not  look — she  dropped 
her  face  again  in  the  cushion. 

"  Have  I  then  sinned  beyond  redemption  ? 
Am  I  BO  utterly  hateful  to  you,  Barbara,  that 
yon  cannot  even  look?" 
Barbara  was  mute. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  was  to  be  married  to- 
night— that  my  bride  is  waiting  for  me  even 
now?" 

"  I  know  it!  I  know  it  I"  she  said,  with  a  sort 
of  cry— that  arrow  going  to  the  mark.   O  Leices- 
ter, you  have  broken  my  heart!" 
"  I  have  been  a  traitor  and  a  villain.  I  know ; 


]ife,  and  tlint 
Bt  nnd  ashoB. 
eft ;  t!iat  was 
for  anything 
w  that  it  was 
snrriage  after 
iiffe,  and  bIiu 
irnBliing  over 
the  dayliglit 
),  stealing  in 
itB  pale  light 
e  the  pitying 

•ont  door — a 
*ng  from  end 
irbara's  heart 
her  breast? 
sfore.  There 
,  and  decided 
7e  known  all 
I  and  thirsted 
as  the  blind 

ras  Barbara's 

was  opened, 
llizabeth,  the 

and  fetch  a 


Ij'a  face ;  the 
nd  some  one 
jr,  or,  rather, 
her  she  was 
up  :  it  must 
xe  be  doing 


nadness,  Bhe 


ler  cheelt — 
vn — the  dear 

r  me,  either 
)u  not  even 

nt.  Yes,  it 
ere,  even  at 
she  drojiped 

edemption  ? 
larbara,  that 


married  to- 
or  me  even 

,  with  a  sort 
c.  O  Leioes- 

lin.  I  know ; 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFPE. 


98 


but,  villain  as  I  am,  I  oould  not  finish  what  I 
had  begun.  At  the  last  hour  I  have  deserted 
them  all,  Barbara,  to  kneel  at  your  feet  again. 
She  is  beautiful  and  good  ;  but  I  only  love  you, 
and  "JO  to  you  I  have  come  back.  Will  you 
send  me  away,  Barbara?" 

Her  Imnd  only  tightened  over  his  for  answer. 
In  that  moment  she  only  knew  that  eiie  was 
utterly  miserable  and  desperate,  and  that  she 
loved  this  man.  She  felt  herself  standing  on 
u  quickBfind,  and  that  it  was  shifting  away  un- 
der her  feet,  and  letting  her  down. 

"  Wiien  I  left  you  and  went  to  London,  Bar- 
bara," the  dear  low  voice  went  on,  "  and  saw 
hor  first,  I  was  diizzled  ;  and  somehow,  Heaven 
only  knows  how !  I  promised  to  fulfill  an  en- 
gagement m.ide  years  before  I  had  even  heard 
of  her.  While  she  glittered  liefora  me,  the  daze 
continued  ;  but  the  moment  I  left  her,  the  scales 
fell  from  my  eyes,  and  I  saw  it  all.  I  came 
back  to  Cliftonlea,  determined  to  give  up  every- 
thing for  love  and  you — ta  make  you  my  wife, 
nnd  seek  together  a  home  in  the  New  World. 
I  came.  As  I  passed  the  cathedral  I  saw  a 
crowd,  and  entering,  the  first  thing  I  beheld 
was  you,  Barbara,  the  wife  of  another  man — my 
repentance  and  resolution  all  too  late." 

His  listener  had  a  long  account  to  settle  with 
thot  other  man.  It  was  only  one  more  item 
added  to  the  catalogue,  and  she  said  notV.ing  ; 
and  still  holding  her  hand  tighter,  and  comiug 
nearer,  the  voice  went  on  ; 

"  I  thought  I  would  give  you  up,  forget  you, 
and  take  the  bride  they  liad  chosen  for  me  ; 
but  now,  at  the  last  hour,  I  find  that  life  with- 
out you  is  less  than  worthless.  Your  marriage 
was  a  mockery.  You  cannot  care  for  this  man. 
Will  you  send  me  away,  desolate  and  alone,  over 
the  world  ?" 

Still  she  did  not  speak.  The  sand  was  slip- 
ping away  fast,  and  she  was  going  down. 

"Barbaral"  he  whispered,  "you  do  not  love 
this  man — yon  love  me.  Then  leave  him  for- 
ever, and  fly  with  me."' 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   STORY. 

The  road  from  the  town  of  Cliftonlea  to  the 
Castle  was  a  somewhat  long  one  ;  but  by  turn- 
ing off  and  going  through  Lower  Ciiffe  and  the 
i)ark-gute8,  the  distance  was  shortened  by  half, 
dr.  Sweet,  however,  did  not  choose  to  take  this 
short  cut ;  but  walkfed  on  through  the  town,  at 
his  usual  steady  pace,  neither  slowly  nor  hur- 
riedly, and  the  wliite  summer  moon  was  shining 
over  his  head  as  he  passed  the  Italian  cottage. 
The  whole  park  seemed  alive.  Up  on  a  hill 
fireworks  in  full  blaze,  and  a  vast  ciowd  was 
gathered  round  them.  Down  in  a  smooth  hol- 
low the  Cliftonlea  bross  band  was  discouraing 
merry  music  ;  and  on  the  velvet  sward  the  dan- 
cers were  enjoying  themselves  in  another  way. 
The  place  wus  one  blaze  of  rainbow  light,  from 


the  myriad  colored  lamps  hung  in  the  trees ; 
and  the  moon  was  more  like  a  dim  tallow-cAn- 
dle,  set  up  in  the  sky  to  be  out  of  the  way,  than 
anything  else.  The  joy-bells  were  clashing  out 
high  over  all,  and  mingled  with  their  loud  ring- 
ing, the  lawyer  caught  the  Bound  of  the  cathe- 
dral clock  tolling  nine  as  he  entered  the  paved 
court-yard.  He  paused  for  a  moment  with  a 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"Nine  o'clock — the  appointed  hour!  Per- 
haps I  will  be  too  late  for  the  ceremony,  after 
all,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  ran  up  the  steps. 
The  great  hall-door  stood  open  to  admit  the 
cool  niglit-air,  and,  standing  in  a  blaze  of  light, 
he  saw  Sir  Roland  and  Colonel  Shirley  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  No  one  else  was  in  the  domed 
hall  but  the  servants,  who  flitted  ceaselessly  to 
and  fro  at.  the  farther  end  ;  and  he  stepped  in, 
hat  in  hand.  The  two  pentlemon  turned  simul- 
taneously and  eagerly,  but  the  luces  of  both  fell 
when  they  saw  who  it  was. 

"  Good  evening.  Sir  Roland  ;  good  evening, 
Colonel  Shirley,''  began  Mr,  Sweet,  bowing  low. 
"  Permit  me  to  offer  my  congratulations  on  thi,'^ 
happy  occasion." 

"Congratulations!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel; 
"  faith,  I  think  there  will  be  something  besides 
congratulations  needed  shortly  !  Have  you  seen 
Mr.  Leicester  Ciiffe  anywhere  in  your  travels 
to-ni^'ht,  Mr.  Sweet;?" 

Mr.  Sweet  looked  at  tiie  speaker  in  undisguis- 
ed astohisliment. 

'"  Mr.  Leicester,  is  it  possible  that  he  rs  not 
here  ? ' 

"  Very  possible,  my  dear  Sir.  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  Ban  him  when  he  comes,  and 
let  him  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  bullet  tbrougli 
the  head !" 

"  Is  it  really  possible !  Where  in  the  world 
can  he  bo  to-night  of  all  nights,  if  not  here  ?" 

"  Ah  l  that  is  what  I  would  like  to  have  some 
one  tell  me»  Wherever  he  may  be,  Castle  Ciiffe 
has  certainly  not  the  honor  of  containing  him; 
and  the  hour  for  the  ceremony,  you  see,  is  past." 

"  It  is  astonishing !''  said  Mr,  Sweet,  slowly, 
and  looking  a  little  bewildered  by  tiie  news. 
"  It  is  incomprehensible  !  I  never  heard  any- 
thing like  it  in  my  life  1" 

"  1  agree  with  you.  But  that  does  not  mend 
the  matter  unhappily  ;  and  if  he  does  not  ap- 
pear within  the  next  fifteen  minutes,  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  go  and  stop  those  con- 
founded bells,  and  send  all  those  good  people 
in  the  park  about  their  business  !'' 

"  And  there  has  been  no  wedding,  then,  to- 
night?' said  Mr.  Sweet,  Btill  looking  bewildered. 

"  None !  Nor  is  there  likely  to  be,  as  far  as  I 
can  see." 

"  And  Miss  Shirley  is  still—" 

"  Miss  Shirley !  and  seems  in  a  fair  way  of 
remaining  so  for  the  present,  at  least." 

"  You  have  something  to  say,  Sweet,  have 
you  not?"  asked  Sir  Roland,  who  had  been 


^1 
'I 


94 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


/jn».!,^ 


wAtcbiiig  the  lawyer,  and  seemed  struck  by 
Bometbiug  in  bis  face. 

Mr.  Sweet  liesitated  a  little ;  but  Colonel 
interposed  itiipaiieutly : 

"  Out  nritb  it,  maul  If  you  have  anything  to 
say,  let  us  have  it  at  once." 

"My  request  may  seem  strange — bold — al- 
most inadmissible,"  said  the  lawyer,  still  hesi- 
tating. "  But  I  do  assure  yuu,  I  would  not 
make  it  were  it  not  necessary." 

"  What  is  the  man  drivini;  at?"  broke  out  the 
tlie  Colonel,  in  astonisliment  and  impatience. 
"  What's  all  chis  palaver  about?  Come  to  the 
point  at  once.  Sweet,  and  let  us  have  this  inad- 
missible request  of  yours." 

"  It  is,  Colonel,  that  I  see  Miss  Shirley  at 
once  and  alone !  I  have  two  or  three  words  to 
suy  to  her  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  she 
should  hear." 

Sir  Roland  and  Colonel  Shirley  looked  at 
each  other,  and  then  at  Mr.  Sweet,  who,  in 
spite  of  every  effort,  seemed  a  little  nervous  and 
excited. 

"  See  Miss  Shiriey  at  once,  tmfl  ninnfi !"  re- 

Eeated  Sir  Roland,  looking  at  biiu  wiiii  some  of 
is  sister's  laercing  intentuess.  "  You  did  right 
to  say  that  your  request  was  a  strange  and 
bold  one.  What  can  you  possibly  have  to  say 
to  Miss  Shirley  ?" 

"  A  few  very  important  words.  Sir  Roland." 

*•  r*iiy  them,  then,  to  the  young  lady's  father  ; 
she  lias  no  secrets  from  him." 

"  I  beg  your  par. Ion,  I  cannot  do  so.  That 
is,  I  would  infinitely  rather  say  them  to  her- 
self first,  and  leave  it  to  her  own  good  pleasure 
to  repeat  them." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  nothing  about  my  son  ?" 

♦'Certainly,  Sir  Roland.  Of  your  son,  I 
know  nothing." 

"  Well,  it's  odd  !"  said  the  Colonel.  "  But  1 
have  no  objection  to  your  seeing  Yivia,  if  she 
has  none.     Come  this  way,  Mr.  Sweet." 

Taking  the  wide  staircase  in  long  bounds  as 
lightly  ae  he  could  have  done  twenty  years  be- 
fore, the  Colonel  gained  the  upper  hall,  follow- 
ed by  the  lawyer,  and  tapped  at  the  door  of 
the  Rose  Room.  It  was  opened  immediately  by 
Lady  Agnes,  who  looked  out  with  an  anxious 
face. 

"  O  Cliffe !  has  Leicester  come  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  but  a  very  different  pfrson  has 
—Mr.  Sweet."  * 

•'  Mr.  Sweet !  Does  he  bring  any  news  »  Has 
anything  happened  ?" 

"No;  though  he  says  he  wants  to  see 
Vivia." 

•'  See  Vivia  1"  exclaimed  her  ladyship,  looking 
in  the  liiBt  degree  amazed,  not  to  say  shocked, 
at  the  unprecedented  request.  "  IlasMr.  Sweet 
gone  crazy  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  But  here  he  is  to  an- 
swer for  himself." 


Thus  invoked,  Mr.  Sweet  presented  himself 
with  n  deprecating  bow. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lady.  I  know  the 
request  seems  strange ;  but  I  cannot  help  it,  un- 
rtiusonable  as  the  time  is.  I  beg  of  you  to  let 
me  Sec  Miss  Shirley  at  once,  and  the  explana- 
tion shall  come  afterward." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort!  Vm  sur- 
prised at  you,  Mr.  Sweet  I  What  can  you  mean 
by  so  outrageous  a  request  f " 

'-My  Lady,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  must  till 
you ;  but  I  earnestly  entreat  you  not  to  force 
me  to  a  public  explanation,  until  I  have  spoken 
in  private  to  Miss  Shirley." 

'*  Oh,  it  is  something  about  Leicester  !  I  know 
it  is,  bz'd  he  wants  to  prepare  her  for  some 
shock.  Mr.  Sweet,  do  not  dare  to  trifle  with 
rae  I  I  am  no  baby  ;  and  if  it's  anything  about 
him,  I  commend  you  to  speak  out  at  once  1" 

"  Lady  Agnes,  I  liave  said,  again  and  again, 
that  it  is  nothing  about  him,  and  I  repeat  it. 
Of  Mr.  Leicester  Cliffe  I  know  nothing  whatev- 
er. The  matter  simply  and  solely  couoerus  Miss 
Shirly  alone."' 

'•  me  i}oict .'''  cried  a  silvery  voice.  And  the 
beautilul  amiling  face  of  the  bride  peeped  over 
grandmamma's  satin  shoulder. 

"  Who  vyants  Miss  Shirley  ?  0  Mr.  Sweet, 
is  it  you  ?    Uas  anything  happened  to  — " 

She  paused,  coloring  vividly. 

Nothing  has  happened  to  Mr.  Cliffe,  I  hope. 
Miss  Shirley,"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  turning  his  anx- 
ious face  toward  that  young  lady.  '■  I  have  no 
doubt  he  will  be  here  presently  ;  but  before  he 
comes,  it  is  of  the  v.tmost  importance  I  should 
see  you  a  few  minutes  in  private." 

Miss  Sliirley  opened  her  blue  eyes  according 
to  custom  extremely  wide,  and  turned  them  in 
bewildering  inquiry  upon  pupa. 

"  Mr.  Sweet  lias  some  awful  secret  to  reveal 
to  you,  Vivia,"  observed  that  gentleman,  smil- 
ing. "  The  '  Mysteries  of  UJolpho'  were  plain 
reading  compared  to  him  this  evening." 

"  If  Mr.  Sweet  has  anything  to  say  to  Miss 
Shirley,"  said  Lady  Agnes,  haujjhtily,  "  let  him 
say  it  here  and  at  once.  I  cannot  have  any  se- 
cret interview  and  mysterious  nonsense." 

"  It  is  not  nonsense,  my  Lady." 

"  The  more  reason  you  should  out  with  it  at 
once.  You  do  not  need  to  be  told  that  any- 
thing that  concerns  Miss  Shirley  concerns  her 
father  and  myself.  If  you  do  not  like  that,  you 
had  better  take  your  loave." 

"Mr.  Sweet  turned  so  distressed  and  iraplor 
ing  a  lace  at  this  sharp  speech  toward  Miss 
Vivia,  that  that  good-natured  young  lady  felt 
called  upon  to  strike  in. 

"  Never  mind,  grandmamma.  There  is  noth* 
ing  so  very  dreadful  in  his  speaking  to  me  in 
private,  since  he  wisiies  it  so  nmch.  It  is  not 
wrong — is  it,  papa?' 

"Not  wrong,  but  rather  silly,  I  think." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Sweet  and  I  are  so  wise  general* 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


ented  himsell 

.    I  know  the 

lot  help  it,  un- 

of  you  to  let 

the  ezplana- 

)it!  Vm  Bur- 
eau you  lueiiQ 

it,  I  muat  till 
1  not  to  force 
I  have  spoken 

jester!  I  know 
her  for  some 
to  trifle  with 
mjthiug  about 
it  at  once  I" 
ain  and  again, 
ud  I  repeat  it. 
jtbing  whatev- 
f  couoerus  Miss 

Dice.  And  the 
le  peeped  over 

0  Mr.  Sweet, 
ned  to  — " 

.  Cliffe,  I  hope, 
iruing  his  aux- 

.  '•  I  have  uo 
but  before  be 

rtauce  I  should 

eyes  aooording 
urued  them  ia 

secret  to  reveal 
entleman,  smil- 
)ho'  were  plain 

eiiiug." 

to  say  to  Miss 
;litily,  "  let  him 
ot  have  any  se- 
mseuse." 

d  out  with  it  at 

told  that  any- 

iy  concerns  her 

[>t  like  that,  you 

ed  and  iraplor' 
sh  toward  Miss 
^■oung  lady  felt 

There  is  noth' 
jaking  to  me  in 
luch.     It  is  not 

I  think." 
BO  wise  general^ 


ly,  that  we  can  afTord  to  be  silly  for  once.  Dnn't 
eay  a  word,  grandmamma ;  it's  all  right.  This 
way,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Sweet." 

Turning  her  pretly  face  as  she  went,  with  an 
arch  little  smile,  she  tripped  across  the  hall, 
nnd  opened  a  door  opposite — .what  was  called 
the  Winter  Drawing-room.  The  lawyer  followed 
tiie  shining  figure  of  the  I  ride  into  the  apart- 
ment, whose  pervading  tints  were  gold  and 
crimson,  and  which  wns  illuminated  with  amber 
sliailod  lamps,  filling  it  with  a  sort  of  golden 
haze.  He  closed  the  door  after  him,  and  stood 
for  ft  moment  with  his  back  to  it. 

'•  Will  your  two  or  three  words  take  long  to 
eny  ?"  asked  Miss  Shirley,  still  smiling—"  which 
means,  am  I  to  sit  down  or  stand  ?" 

''  Yon  had  better  sit  down,  I  think,  Miss 
Shirley.-' 

••Ah!  I  thought  it  was  more  than  two  or 
three  words ;  but  you  had  better  l>e  quick,  for 
1  have  not  much  time  to  spare  on  this  particu- 
lar evening!" 

She  sank  into  afauteuil  of  scarlet  velvet ;  her 
gossamer  robes  floating  about  her  like  white 
mist ;  her  graceful  head,  with  its  snowy  vail, 
and  golden  curls,  and  jeweled  orange-blossoms, 
leaning  liglitly  against  its  glowing  back ;  the 
exquisite  face  whereon  the  smile  still  lingered, 
as  she  lightly  waved  him  to  a  distant  chair. 
Truly,  she  was  dazzling  in  her  beauty  and  her 
g|>lendor ;  but  her  companion  was  not  dazzled — 
Le  was  smiling  a  little  as  he  'ook  Ids  seat. 

•'  Well,  Mr.  Sweet,  what  is  this  terrible  mys- 
tery of  which  papa  speaks  ?" 

"  Colonel  Shirley  has  termed  it  rightly— it  is 
a  terrible  mystery." 

"  Indeed  !      And  it  concerns  me,  I  suppose,  or 
you  would  not  be  so  anxious  to  tell  it  to  me." 
"  Yes,  Miss  Shirley,  J  am  sorry  to  say  it  con- 
cerns you  very  closely  indeed." 

"  Sorry  to  sfj  !  Well,  go  on  and  let  me  hear 
it,  then." 

"It  is  a  somewhat  com plexed  story.  Miss 
Shirley,  and  requires  me  to  go  buck  a  long 
time — over  eighteen  years." 

Miss  Shirley  bowed  slowly  her  willingness 
for  him  to  go  back  to  the  flood,  if  he  liked. 

"  More  than  eighteen  years  ago,  Miss  Shirley, 
there  lived,  several  miles  from  London,  in  a 
poor  enough  cottage — for  they  were  very  poor 
jieople— a  certain  man  and  wife — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
John  Wildman." 

At  ♦-his  unexpected  announcement,  Miss  Shir- 
ley opened  her  blue  eyes  again,  and  smiled  a 
little  amused  smile,  as  she  looked  at  him  inquir- 
inglv. 

"^his  Mr.  John  Wildman  was  by  trade  a 
bricklayer,  and  often  absent  from  home  weeks 
at  a  time.  One  morn'ng,  very  enrly,  during 
one  of  *he8e  ahsences,  a  carriage  drove  up  to 
the  door,  and  a  young  ladv  and  gentleman 
made  their  appearance  in  tne  cottage.  The 
young  Iftdr  appeared  to  be  ill,  and  the  gentle- 


man seemed  exceed,  gly  anxious  that  she  should 
lodge  there.  Mrs.  Vildman  was  not  many 
months  married ;  they  were  poor ;  she  wished 
to  help  her  husband,  If  she  could  ;  the  gentle- 
man promised  to  pay  well,  and  she  consented. 
He  went  away  immediately,  and  for  the  n.  xt 
two  or  three  weeks  did  not  make  his  aj-Diar- 
ance  again,  though  money  and  furniture  'were 
sent  to  the  cottage.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
two  events  happened— ft  child  was  born  and 
:he  lady  died.  Before  her  death,  she  had  sent 
a  message  to  the  young  gentleman,  who  came 
in  time  to  see  her  laid  in  the  grave,  and  con- 
sig.ied  his  infant  daughter  to  the  care  of  Mrs. 
Wildman  before  departing,  as  be  thought,  for- 
ever, from  his  native  land." 

During  this  preamble,  the  blue  eyes  had 
opened  to  their  widest  extent,  and  were  fixed  on 
the  speaker  with  a  little  bewildered  stare  that 
said  plainly  enough,  she  could  make  neither 
head  nor  tail  of  the  whole  thing. 

♦*  Several  months  after  this,"  Mr.  Sweet  went 
on  steadily,  "  this  John  Wildman,  with  a  few 
others,  perpetrated  a  crime  for  which  he  was 
transported,  leaving  his  wife  and  child— for 
they  had  a  child  some  weeks  old— to  get  on  as 
best  they  might ;  the  strange  gentleman's  infant 
with  them.  It  was  by  means  of  this  very  in- 
fant they  managed  to  exist  at  all ;  for  its  fath- 
er, immediately  on  his  arrival  in  India,  for 
wliich  place  he  had  sailed,  sent  her  plentiful  re- 
mittances; and  so,  for  nearly  six  years,  they 
got  along  tolerably  well.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  she  fell  ill,  and  her  husband's  mother, 
who  lived  in  some  ont-of-the  way  place  in  the 
north  part  of  England,  was  sent  for,  and  came 
to  nurse  her  and;  the  two  little  girls— whose 
names,  by  the  way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  wciv 
Victoria  and  Barbara." 

During  all  this  time  his  listener  had  been 
"  far  wide".  But  now  she  started  as  if  she  had 
received  a  galvanic  shuck. 

"What!  Victoria  and  Barbara!  It  isu  t 
possible  that — " 

"  Permit  me  to  continue.  Miss  Shirley,"  said 
Mr,  Sweet,  bowing  without  looking  up,  "nnd 
you  will  soon  recognize  the  characters.  Yes, 
iheir  names  were  Victoria  and  Barbara.  Vic- 
toria, the  elder  by  a  few  moaths,  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  dead  lady  ;  and  Barbara,  the  daughter 
of  tiie  transported  felon.  Judith,  the  mother- 
iu-law,  oame  to  take  charge  of  them,  aud  heard 
for  the  first  time  the  whole  story.  She  was  a 
crafty  old  woman,  was  Juditli,  with  little  love 
for  the  daughter  in-law  or  granddaughter  whom 
she  had  cotre  to  take  care  of.  But  she  was 
wicked,  ambitious,  and  mischievous,  and  a  de- 
moniac plot  at  once  entered  into  her  head.  A 
letter  was  dispatched  to  the  gentleman  in  India 
— he  wf  an  oflScer,  too— telling  him  that  the 
Wildmniis  were  about  to  leave  for  America,  and 
that  he  had  better  come  home  and  take  charge 
of  bis  daughter.    Miss  Shirley,  he  oame  ;  but 


^1 


''-■'A' 


96 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


'r*--. 
1 


it  was  not  his  daughter  lie  received  from  the 
old  woman,  but  her  granddaughter.  The  chil- 
dren were  not  unlike  ;  botli  had  the  same  fair 
cumplexiuns,  and  light  hair  and  blue  eyes. 
The  reai  Victoria  was  kept  carefully  out  of 
sight,  and  he  carric  '  o£f  the  false  one  lu  implic- 
it trust  and  placed  ner  in  a  convent  iu  France. 
Mi.«8  Shirley,  I  beg — " 

He  stopped  and  rose  hastily,  for  Miss  Shirley 
had  sprung  from  her  seat,  and  wad  confronting 
them  with  flushing  eyes. 

"It  is  false!  It  is  false!  I  shall  never  be- 
lieve it !  What  is  tliis  you  have  dared  to  tell 
ine,  Mr.  Sweet  ?" 

"  The  truth,  Miss  Shirley." 

"  My  God !  ho  yon  mean  to  say  that  I  am 
really — that  I  am  nut —  Oh,  it  is  too  false,  too 
absurd  to  hear !  I  will  nut  slop  and  listen  to 
you  any  lo:iger." 

Shp  turned  excitedly  to  go  ;  but  he  placed 
himself  between  her  and  tbe  door. 

"  Miss  Shirley,  I  beg,  I  entreat,  for  Heaven's 
sake  near  me  out!  It  is  every  word  true.  Do 
you  think  I  would  come  here  and  repeat  such  a 
tale,  if  I  was  not  positive  ?" 

"  0  Man  Dim!"  what  is  he  saying?  Am  I 
dreaming  or  awake?" 

•'  Miss  Shirley  will  you  sit  down  and  hear  me 
out?" 

"  Miss  Shirley !"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  wild- 
ness  in  her  look.  "  If  what  you  have  dared  to 
say  be  true,  I  have  no  right  to  that  name.  It 
has  never  for  one  poor  moment  belonged  to 

You  are  quite  right ;  but  the  name,  just  now, 
is  of  little  oonBe(]^uence.  Will  you  be  pleased 
to  sit  down  and  listen  while  I  finish?" 

"  I  am  listening — go  on." 

She  sank  back  into  the  seat,  not  leaning  back 
this  time,  but  sitting  ereot,  her  little  white 
hands  clinging  to  one  arm  of  the  chair,  the 
wonderful  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  liim  wild  and 
dilated.  Her  companion  resumed  his  seat  and 
his  story ;  his  own  eyes  fixed  on  the  carpet. 

"  The  little  girl  in  the  convent,  who  bore 
the  name  of  Victoria  Genevieve  Shirley,  but 
who  in  reality  was  Bai-bara  Wildman,  remained 
there  until  she  was  twelve  years  old,  when  the 
Indian  oflScer,  who  fancied'  himself  her  father, 
returned  to  England,  his  mother,  and  his  native 
home,  and  his  little  girl,  the  supposed  heiress 
of  Castle  Cliffe,  was  sent  for  and  came  here. 
Miss  Shirley,  to  tell  you  any  more  of  her  his- 
tory would  be  onperfluous  ;  but  perhaps  you 
would  like  to  hear  the  story  of  the  real,  the  de- 
frauded heiress,  the  supposed  Barbara?" 

He  paused  to  see  if  she  would  speak,  and 
looked  at  her ;  but  one  glance  was  all  he  dared 
venture,  and  he  lowered  his  eyes  and  went  hur- 
;  riedly  on : 

"  The  sick  mother  knew  nothing  of  the  change 

I  until  it  was  too  late,  and  then  she  went  frantic 

with  grief.     Old  Judith  alarmed,  as  she  very 


well  might  be,  managed  to  remove  her  to  Lon 
don,  by  telling  her  she  would  recover  her  child 
there ;  and  when  there,  gave  out  she  was  mail, 
and  had  her  imprisoned  in  a  mad-hous*'.  It  is 
all  very  dreadl'ul,  ifliss  Sliirley,  but  I  regret  tu 
repeat  it  is  all  quite  true,  uevertheieso." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
snnk  down  among  the  cushions  of  the  seat,  quiv- 
ering all  over  for  a  moment,  and  then  becoujiug 
perfectly  still. 

"  The  old  woman  changed  the  name  of  Wild- 
man  for  that  of  Black  ;  and  during  the  next  tno 
or  three  years  iived  on  the  money  paid  her  by 
Colonel  Shirley.     That  began  to  give  out,  and 
she  resolved  to  make  Colonel  Shirley's  daughter 
find  her  more.     Barbara — the  children's  iiauiee>,  I 
as  I  told  you,  were  changed — was  a  pretty  little 
girl  of  nine,  and  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
manager  of  a  band  of  strolling  players.     She 
became  one  of  the  band — the  most  popular  one 
among  them — and  for  the  next  two  years  bbel 
and  her  grandmother  managed  very  well,  when  I 
one  day  they  were  astonished  by  the  unlocked- 1 
for  appearance  of  the  transported  Mr.  Wild- 
man,  who  had  made  his  escape,  and  had  found  | 
them  out.     He,  too,  took  tbe  name  of  Black- 
Peter  Black — attached  himself  to  the  same  com- 
pany, and  the  three  went  wandering  over  Eng- 
land together.     Are  you  listening.  Miss  Shir- 
ley?" 

He  really  thought  she  was  not,  she  lay  sol 
rigid  and  still ;  but  at  the  question  she  partlyl 
raised  herself  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Barbara  Black  that  was — -^our  wife  that  isl 
— is  then  the  real  Victoria  Shirley  ?*'  ' 

»  She  is." 

He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  her ;  but  he  feltl 
the  blue  eyes  were  transfixing  him  and  readingi 
his  very  heart.  It  was  only  for  a  few  8econdis| 
and  then  she  dropped  down  among  the  ca6Lions| 
again,  and  lay  stilt. 

''  They  came  here  to  Sussex  six  years  flgoJ 
and,  strange  enough,  settled  here.  The  oldf 
woman  and  her  son  had  each  probably  tlieirj 
own  reasons  for  so  doing.  It  is  an  out-of-tbe 
way  place,  this  little  seucoast  town,  and  the  re- 
turned convict  was  not  ambitious  to  extemi 
the  circle  of  his  acquaintance  ;  and  hia  niothfij 
mother,  probably,  was  actuated  by  a  desire  t(j 
see  how  her  wicked  and  cruel  plot  worked, 
the  real  and  supposed  heiress  grew  up,  boilj 
beautiful ;  bnt  all  similarity  ended  betweeij 
them  there — one  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  envied 
admired,  and  happy ;  the  other  wretchedly  poorl 
little  cared-for,  and  miserable.  But  I,  Miss  Sbirl 
ley,  knowing  nothing  of  all  this,  loved  her  anf 
married  her  ;  and  it  is  only  within  the  last  da] 
or  two  these  facts  have  come  to  my  knowledge 
I  beg  your  pardon,  but  are  you  really  listenf 

He  oould  not  tell  what  to  make  of  her.  Sb 
lay  drooping  over  the  side  of  the  chair  so  in 
luovably  that  she  might  have  been  dead,  for  i 


Tl>e 
bride-elei 
hour ,  bi 
a  strange 
fallen  <t\( 
scend,  th 
the  pale 
at  ::ut. 
"  Is  yo 
"  It  is 
"And 
"  In  thi 
"  Why 
"  She- 
my  Lady, 

"Not 
Iter  pierc 
"  Not  we 
then  ?" 

'My  I 

better  go 

♦♦Veiy 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


97 


10 '-'6  hf.T  to  Lon 
recover  her  child 
ut  Bbe  was  uiin\ 
lad-bouB*'.  It  is 
,  but  1  regret  to 
rtbeleB8." 
ber  bancle,  nnd 
of  tbe  seut.qiiiv- 
ud  tbeu  becouiing 

be  name  of  Wild- 
ifing  tbe  next  two 
oney  paid  ber  by 

to  give  out,  and 
Shirley's  daughter 
I  cbildren's  name?, 
was  a  pretty  little 
i  attention  of  the 
ng  players.     She 

most  popular  one 
ixt  two  years  bhe 
d  very  well,  when 

by  tbe  unlooked- 
iported  Mr.  Wild- 
,pe,  and  had  found 

nanae  of  Black— 
If  to  the  same  com- 
idering  over  Eng- 
jteniug,  Miss  Shir- 
as  not,  she  lay  sol 
luestion  she  partly! 
lim.  .  1 

—your  wife  that  ul 
birley  ?*'  ' 

it  her  ;  but  he  feltl 

g  hira  and  readingi 

for  a  few  secondJ 

imong  the  cushionsj 

,8ex  six  years  ngoi 
d   here.     The  m 
ach  probably  theirf 
It  is  an  out-of-tbe 
t  town,  and  the  re- 
iibitious  to   exteiul 
;e  ;  and  his  niotlieif 
ated  by  a  desire  td 
b1  plot  worked.    H 
ress  grew  up,  boill 
ity  ended    betwefi| 
p  of  luxury,  envied, 
ler  wretchedly  poorl 
e.   But  I,  Miss  Shirl 
this,  loved  her  m 
within  tbe  last  dal 
je  to  my  knowledgej 
e  you  really  listew 

make  of  her.    Sh| 
of  the  chair  so  in 
ve  been  dead,  for  i 


ibe  signs  of  life  she  exhibited.  But  she  was 
very  far  from  dead ;  for  she  answered  us  she 
had  done  before,  and  at  once ;  and  tbe  sweet 
voice  was  almost  harsh,  so  full  was  it  of  sup- 
pressed inward  pain. 

'♦  I  am  listening.   Why  need  you  ask  ?   Go  on."' 

"  This  miserable  old  woman  was  fund  of  you 
— excuse  me  if  I  pain  you — and  her  exultation 
betran  to  come  out  when  she  found  you  were  to 
be  tlie  bride  of  the  first  gentleman  in  Sussex. 
lL;r  reputed  granddaughter,  whom  she  feared 
and  disliked.wan  my  wife ;  all  her  schemes  seemed 
accomplished,  and,  in  her  triumph,  she  drojipcd 
hints  that  roused  my  suspicions.  I  followed 
them  up,  suspected  a  great  deal,  and  at  Inst 
boldly  accused  her  of  all.  She  was  frightened 
and  denied  ;  but  her  denials  confirmed  my  sus- 
picions, and  at  last  I  forced  I'rom  ber  the  whole 
disgraceful  truth.  It  wasn't  over  an  hour  ago. 
I  came  here  immediately.  And  that,  Miss  Shir- 
ley, is  the  whole  story." 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked  rather 
anxiously.    She  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

♦'  Miss  Shirley !" 

"  I  am  listening." 

"I  have  told  you  all.  What  is  to  be  done 
now." 

"  You  are  to  go  and  leave  me." 

He  rose  up  and  walked  to  the  door. 

'•  Yes,  Miss  Shirley ;  but  I  will  remain  here. 
Lady  Agnes  and  Colonel  Shirley  must  know  all 
to  night." 

He  opened  the  door  and  passed  out.  The 
hnll,  in  a  blaze  of  light,  was  deserted  ;  but  be 
heard  the  murmur  of  voices  from  the  room  op- 
posite and  from  belo.v. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured  to  himself;  "yes,  my 
dear  Barbara,  thanks  to  you,  it  is  all  mine  at 

last."  

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DIAMOND    CUT    DIAMOND. 

'ri»e  interview  between  the  lawyer  and  the 
bride-elect  bad  not  lasted  over  a  quarter  of  an 
hour ,  but,  as  he  stood  in  the  hall,  be  felt  that 
a  strange  and  ominous  silence  seemed  to  have 
fallen  over  the  house.  As  he  was  about  to  de- 
scend, the  door  of  the  Rose  Room  opened,  and 
the  pale  and  haughty  face  of  Lady  Agnes  look- 
2t  :;Kt. 

"  Is  your  conference  over  ?"  she  asked. 

"  It  is  over,  my  Lady." 

"  And  where  is  my  granddaughter  ?" 

"  In  the  drawing-room,  my  Lndy." 

"  Why  does  she  not  come  out  ?" 

"  She — she — I  am  afraid  she  is  not  quite  well, 
my  Lady.' 

"  Not  well !"  exclaimed  Lady  Agnes,  fixing 
her  piercing  eyes  in  stern  suspicion  on  him. 
"  Not  well  1  what  have  you  been  saying  to  her, 
then  ?" 

'  My  Lady,  pardon  me  ;  but  I  think  you  had 
better  go  to  Miss  Shirley  directly." 

"Veiy  well,  Sir  I.  And  you  will  have  the 


goodness  to  stay  where  you  are  until  this  mys- 
terious matter  is  cleared  up." 

She  swept  proudly  past  him  with  a  majestic 
rustle  of  her  silk  skirts,  and  opened  tbe  dour 
of  the  Winter  Drawingroom.  But  she  paused 
on  the  threshhold  with  a  shrill  shriek— such  a 
shriek  as  made  Mr.  Sweet  turn  ashy  white,  ter- 
rified the  i: nests  below,  and  made  her  sou  comu 
from  the  lower  hall  in  half  a  dozen  fleet  bounds 
tu  ber  side. 

Vivia  bad  fallen  to  the  floor,  not  quite  pros- 
trate, but  ber  bands  grasping  the  arm  of  tbe 
chair,  her  head  on  them,  and  her  whole  atti- 
tude unnatural  and  distorted.  It  was  a  stnmge 
sight — the  glowing  room  filled  witli  amber 
light,  all  gold  and  fire  ;  the  slender  shape  in  its 
floating  robes,  misty  vail,  and  sparkling  bridal 
wreath,  crouching  down  in  that  strained,  writh- 
ing position — its  profusion  of  long  ringlets 
sweeping  the  crimson  eiirpet 

"  The  child  has  fainted !"  screamed  Lady 
Agnes,  "  or  that  wretch  has  killed  her !" 

"Vivia,  my  darling  !"  criea  hsr  father,  fly- 
ing in  and  littiag  her  in  bis  arua.  "  Vivia,  my 
child,  wiiat  is  the  matter  ?" 

Lady  Aj^nes  was  wrong  ;  she  had  not  fainted 
Her  eyes  were  wide  open,  sta-  ing  straight  before 
her  with  a  fixed,  unnatural  look  ;  her  face  was 
quite  ghastly  ;  but  she  made  a  feeble  motion 
when  raised,  as  if  struggling  u>  get  away. 

"  Vivia,  for  Heaven's  sake  do  not  look  so ! 
Vivia,  dearest,  do  you  not  know  me?" 

The  glazed  and  fixed  intensity  slowly  lefl 
ber  eyes,  and  they  came  back  to  his  face  with  a 
look  of  unutterable  love. 

"  Dear  papa  I"  • 

"  My  darling,  what  is  this  ?  What  ails  you?" 
he  asked,  pushing  back  the  curls  from  the  pale 
brow,  and  touching  it  tenderly  with  his  lips. 

"  0  papa,  don't !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  so  full 
of  sharp  pain  that  he  scarcely  knew  it  ;  and 
again  the  feeble  struggle  to  rise  from  his  arms 
commenced.  • 

Wondering  exceedingly,  he  lifted  and  placed 
ber  in  a  chair,  just  as  Jeannette  rushed  in 
with  smelling-salts  and  sal  volatile  ■  and  Lady 
Agnes  held  a  handkerchief  steeped  in  Cologne 
to  her  temples.  A  crowd  bad  collected  by  tidy 
time  in  the  doorway,  and  seeing  them,  and  re< 
vived  by  stimulants,  she  rose  up. 

"Papa!  Grandmamma!  take  me  away! 
Where  is  Mr.  Sweet  ?" 

"  Here,  Miss  Shirley,"  said  that  gentleman, 
presenting  himself  promptly,  with  a  very  pale 
and  startled  face. 

Tbe  well-bred  crowd  in  the  doorwsn;',  seeing 
by  this  time  they  were  de  trop,  hurried  immedi- 
ately down  stairs,  and  no  one  remained  in  tbe 
drawing-room,  except  Vivia,  her  father  and 
grandmother,  and  Mr.  Sweet. 

"  I  knew  no  good  would  come  of  this  outrage- 
ous interview r'  exclaimed  Lady  Agnes,  flash- 
ing a  look  on  her  agent  that  might  have  scorctt* 


■t'M 


08 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


h    .» 


Litn,  80  fierce  wm  Ub  fire;  "but  I  scarcely 
thought  it  would  end  like  this.  What  have  you 
been  aaying  to  her,  Sir  ?  Out  with  it  at  once, 
nuil  no  more  fooling,  or  I  will  have  you  thrust 
out  witiiin  t!)e  next  five  minuteu  I" 

"  My  Lady,'  hurriedly  began  Mr.  Sweet. 
But  Vivia  started  up,  all  her  strength  recover- 
ed— more  than  her  usual  strength  fur  that  mat- 
ter. In  the  height  of  her  pride  and  power,  she 
liad  been  beaten  to  the  dust ;  but  in  lier  last  ef- 
fort, slie  reared  herself  higher  and  prouder  than 
ever  before  in  her  life. 

"  Grandmamma,  it  is  useless  to  talli  to  him 
like  this.  I  have  heard  notliing  but  what  I 
should  have  heard  before — what  he  should  have 
told  us  all  long  ago  !" 

"  Miss  Shirley,  you  forget — " 

"  I  forgnt  notliiue,  Mr  Sweet.  In  spite  of  all 
that  you  have  said,  I  am  convinced  you  have 
Known  the  mitter  all  along,  and  have  been  si- 
lent for  your  own  ends.  Those  ends  are  not 
very  difficult  to  see,  and  you  have  aocomplisb- 
«d  tliem." 

"  But,  my  dear  Vivia,  what  are  you  talking 
about?"  said  her  father,  looking  to  the  last  de- 
gree puzzled.     "  What  does  tliis  all  mean  ?" 

"  It  means  that  I  am  not  Vivia !  thut  I  have 
sever  bad  a  right  to  that  name  ;  that  for  twelve 
years  I  have  been  a  usurper :  that,  in  short, 
twelve  years  ago,  you  were  deceived,  and  I  pm 
no  daugliter  of  yours  I" 

The  same  unnatural  look  that  had  be  ■ 
her  ey»s  before  came  back,  and  jarred  in 
tone,  whose  very  calmness  and  steadiness  were 
unnatural,  too.  For  the  time  being,  quiet  as 
Sue  Heemed,  she  was  quite  beside  herself,  or,  as 
tlie  French  say,  out  of  herself,  and  could  no 
more  have  shed  a  tear,  or  uttered  a  cry,  or 
made  a  scene,  than  she  could  have  sunk  down 
at  their  feet  and  died.  She  was  not  even  con- 
scious of  sorrow  at  the  revelation  ;  every  nerve 
seemed  numb,  every  feeling  callous,  her  very 
heart  dead.  She  only  felt  there  was  a  dull, 
heavy  pain  aching  there  ;  but  the  swiftness  and 
keenness  of  the  stroke  deadened  every  other 
feeling.  She  stood  before  them,  a  dazzling  fig- 
ure, and  calm  as  if  made  of  marble ;  her  eyes 
wildly  bright  alone  betokeniut;  momentary  in- 
sanity. Lady  Agnes  and  the  Colonel  looked  at 
her  as  if  they  thought  she  had  really  gone  in- 
sane. 

"  Vivia,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  I  don't 
understand." 

"  It  is  plain,  nevertheless ;  and  sudden  and 
quite  unexpected  as  it  is,  I  believe  it  all. 
It  comes  back  to  me  now,  what  I  had  almost 
forgotten  before,  that  Barbara  was  my  name 
long,  long  ago,  and  that  she  was  Victoria  !  Oh, 
I  know  it  is  true  I    I  feel  it  in  my  heart !" 

The  Colonel  turned  in  desperation  to  the 
lawyer. 

'.'  Sweet,  will  you  explain  this  ?  I  do  not 
comprehend  a  word  of  what  she  is  saying," 


"  Colonel  Shirley,  I  am  sorry — .  am  very 
sorry ;  but  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  help  you, 
The  young  lady  speaks  the  truth.  Twelve 
years  ago,  you  were  deceived,  and  she  is  not 
your  daughter." 

•'  Not  my  daughter  !" 

"  No,  Colonell  Can  you  remember  twelve 
years  back,  when  you  came  from  India  and  re- 
ceived her?" 

"  Certainly.     I  remember.     But  what  of  it?" 

"  It  was  not  the  person  you  intrusted  her  to  I 
that  gave  her  to  you  back,  but  an  old  woman  | 
— was  it  not?" 

'•  Yes." 

"  Do  you  recollect  what  she  looked  like  ?" 

"Kecollect!  No.  I  did  not  pay  so  much  I 
attention  to  her  as  that.  What  the  deuce  are! 
you  driving  at,  man  ?" 

"  Only  that  you  have  seen  her  since!    Sb«| 
lives  in  Lower  Cliffe.     She  is  Black,  the  fisher- 
man's mother — she  is  old  Juditli !" 

"  By  Jove  !"  cried  the  Colonel,  his  face  light- 
ing up  with  sudden   intellieeuce,    "  I    believel 
you  are  right.     That  woman°8  face  puzzled  mel 
when  I  saw  it.     I  was  sure  I  had  seen  it  somel 
place  before,  but  could  not  tell  where.    It  ill 
all  plain  now.     And  it  puzzled  me  the  more,  ul  , 
she  always  seemed  dreading  to  look  or  speak  tow  the  speal 
me."  


"  She  had  reason  to  dread  you.  By  her  youj 
have  been  most  grossly  and  basely  deceived ' 

"  How  ?" 

"  The  child  she  gave  you  twelve  years  agol 
was  not  yours,  hut  her  own  granddaughter. 
This  young  lady  is  not  your  child  I" 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  sta'^ing  for- 
ward and  turning  very  pale.  "  STou  villainll 
what  are  you  daring  to  say  ?" 

"  The  truth  Colonel  Shirley,  told  by  her  owi 
lips." 

*'  Do  you  mean  to  say — do  you  dare  to  sai 
that  Vivia  is  not  my  daughters' 

"  I  do." 

Colonel  Shirley  stopped  and  looked  at  liii 
mute  with  consternation.  The  lawyer  stood 
fore  him  very  pale,  but  meeting  his  eye  witiij 
out  quailing — sincerity  and  sympathy  on  ever] 
feature. 

'•  I  know  you  are  stunned  by  the  suddennei 
of  the  shook.  Sir.  I  know  it  is  hard  to  beiiefi 
it  at  first ,  but  it  is  Heaven's  truth  for  all  that] 
If  you  will  only  listen  to  me  five  minutes,  Iwil 
tell  you  all  I  have  told  to — "  a  pause — "  to  tl 
young  lady!" 

"  Go  on  ?" 

Mr.  Sweet  went  on  accordingly.    The  stoi 
was  listened  to  with  profoimdest  silence,  and 
long  and  ominous  pause  followed,  passionateii 
broken  at  last  by  La^ly  Agnes  : 

/'It  is  a  lie,  from  beginning  to  end!  I  wil 
never  believe  a  word  of  it!  The  man  has  fsl 
ricated  the  whole  thing  himself,  for  the  purpoi 
of  trumping  his  own  miserable  wife  upou 


"0,  Vivii 
"I  belies 
I  can  reu 

oir.  I  oou 
Iream,  that 
I  playe 
irm.    I  " 

Anothei 
iffeet,  embo 
id  to  rese 
use  she  is 
ut  Barbari 
ite.    I  rera 
ait  J  look 
He  drew 
laced  it 
lauii.    It 
l^ory  whilst 
ivia,  at  fl) 
egold  chi 

given 

ther  hand. 

e  resenib 

loe,  with  th 

«ie  profus, 

oiu  the  br< 

|J«8,  clear  a 

>»uth  and 

«ing,  the  ej 

f.  and  8ter 

''ose  faces 

oonvinoi 

""■'lie,  ere 

Tlie  nij 


W( 


h> 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


IW 


ClifFe,  if  jou  do  ri;j;ht,  you  will  make  the  serv- 
aiiu  kick  him  outl" 

I  will  apar^  your  servants  tliat  trouble,  Lady 
Agnes!"  said  Mr.  fSweet,  whose  fuce  was  per- 
fectly culorless,  as  h»  luuved  toward  the  duur  ; 
but  no  amount  of  kicking  can  nltur  the  truth  ; 
and  justice  must  be  had,  though  the  heavens 
fidi!" 

Stop!"  cried  Colonel  Shirley,  in   a  voice 
that  made  the  room  ring.    "  Come  back  !   What 
rout'  can  you  give  of  the  truth  of  all   this, 
tteyoMil  that  of  your  word,  and  that  of  this  old 
woman,  whom  you  may  easily  have  bullied  into 
Hie  plot!" 
"The  old  woman  is  ready  to  depose  to  the 
acts,  ou  oath  ;  and  you  can  visit  the  daughter, 
if  yuu  clioose,  in  her  madhouse,  where  she  raves 
hat  the  deuce  are    iaces-iautly  of  her  lost  ciiild,  and  tells  tho  story 
;ii  every  one  who  visits  lier.     Consider,  too,  the 
probabilities.    What  more  natural,  than  that  this 
irretclied  woman  should,  with  her  own  grand- 
daughter, be  placed  in  iifflii'nce,  when  she  had 
it' ill  her  power.     It  is  not  the  first  time  the 
lime  thing  has  been  done,  and  the  young  lady 
eruelf  believes  it." 

Colonel  Shirley  turned  to  her  ;  she  was  stand- 
Dg  as  before.  Sue  had  not  moved  once,  but  her 
syes  had  restlessly  wandered  from  face  to  face 
f  the  speakers. 

"0,  Vivia.  can  you  believe  it!" 
"I  believe  it  all!"  she  said,  quite  calmly. 
I  can  remonib  :i'  it  with  perfect  distinctness 
lOT.    I  could  remembi-r  it  ail  alontr,  like  a  dim 
iream,  that  long  ago  I  was  culled  Barbara,  and 
liat  I  played  with  another  child  who  was  Vic- 
iria.    I  believe  it,  every  word  !" 
"  Another  thing,  Colonel  Shirley  !"  said  Mr. 
Iweet,  emboldened  ;  "  tiiis  young  lady  lias  been 
aid  to  resemble  your  family  very  much,  be- 
ause  she  is  a  blonde,  and  so  are  all  your  race. 
iut  Barbara  is  the  living  image  of  }oiir  dt-ad 
you  dare  to  say    file.    I  remember  her  well.     Here  is  her  por- 
trait; look  at  it  for  yourself!" 

He  drew  a  miniature  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
and  looked  at  liin    ''^^^^l  it  respectfully  in    the  Indian   otiicer's 
he  lawyer  stood  b«     aad.    It  was  a  likeness  of  Barbara,  paimcd  on 
"     fory  whilst  in  London,  and  strikingly  like  her. 
"ivia,  at  the  same  instant,  drew  from  her  neck 
he  gold  chain  to  which  the  portrait  the  Colonel 
°  given  her  was  attached,  and  placed  it  iu  liis 
itiier  hand.     Strange  and  striking,  indeed,  was 
be  resemblance ;    the   same   oval    contour   of 


irry — -  am  very 

»wer  to  help  you. 

truth.      TweUe 

,  and  abe  is  not 


remember  twelve 
oiu  India  and  re- 

But  what  of  it?" 
I  intrusted  her  to 
but  an  old  woman 


J  looked  like?" 
not  pay  so  much 


n  her  since!    Sb« 
Black,  the  fisher- 
dith !" 

)nel.  his  face  ligbt- 
jeuce,  "  I  believe 
's  face  puzzled  me 
I  had  seen  it  some 
tell  where.  It  ii 
ed  me  the  more,  ai 
to  look  or  speak  to 

you.    By  her  you 
basely  deceived." 

u  twelve  years  ago 
firn   granddaughter, 
child  1" 

Colonel,  sta'-^ing  for- 
do.    "  Sfou   villain! 

ley,  told  by  her  own 

0 

lerf' 


ietiug  hiB  eye  with 
sympathy  on  ever 


by  the  suddennei 
it  is  hard  to  believi 
8  truth  for  all  that 


e  five  minutes,  I  vil    >oe,  with  the  deep   bloom  on  the  checks ;  the 

-"  a  pause "  to  tbi    "ne  profusion  of  dark  waving  hair  swept  back 

■cm  the  broad  brow  ;  the  same  large,  uplifted 
yes,  clear  and  bright ;  the  same  characteristic 
rdingly.     The  stoi    "outh  and  chvi :  the  most  striking  difference 
indest  silence,  and     eing,  the  expression.    Barbara  looked  far  cold- 
llowed,  passionatel    r,  and  sterner,   and  prouder  than   tiie  otlier. 
fc,gg  .     '  Bhose  faces  settled  the  matter.     The  Colonel 

ining  to  end!    I  wiViis convinced,  and  his  face  seemed  changed  to 

The  man  hus  fal»>«r''le,  ere  he  looked  up. 
nself,  for  the  pnrpoij  "  The  night  you  gave  me  this,  papa,"  said 
arable  wife  upon 


ou 


Yivia,  catling  him  the  old  familiar  name,  "  I 
told  you  tliey  were  alike,  and  you  snid  it  was  a 
chance  r>isetublance.  It  was  no  chance  resem> 
blanoe,  you  see  now  !" 

"I  see!     BntO,  Vivia— " 

He  leaned  against  a  tall  ebony  cabinet,  and 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Lady  Agnes, 
who  had  been  standing  in  dumb  bewilderment 
all  the  time,  broke  out  now  with  a  wild  cry  : 

"Cliffe!    Clitfe!     This  cannot  be  true !     Y 
cannot  believe  it !" 

"  Mother,  I  do  !" 

"  Dear,  dear  grandmamma !"  exclaimed  Vivia, 
springing  forward  and  catching  her  hand,  terri- 
fied at  her  changing  face,  "  I  will  always.  O 
papa,  couie  here  !" 

For  Lady  Agnes,  with  a  casping  cry,  had 
fallen  back  quite  senseless.  Her  son  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  and  Mr.  Sweet  violently  rang  the 
bell.  Jeannette  and  Hortense  were  there  in  a 
moment.  Colonel  Shirley  carried  her  to  her 
room,  and  was  back  directly. 

"Well,  Sir!"  he  said  to  Mr.  Sweet,  ''and 
what  now  ?" 

The  lawyer  looked  really  distressed  and  at  a 
loss,  but  Vivia  came  to  the  rescue  at  once 

"  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is,  to  go  to  Lower 
ClifFe  immediately,  and  see  this  woman.  I  can 
never  rest  now  until  tlie  whole  matter  is  settle'!. 
If  you  will  wait  for  me,  I  will  be  ready  to  go 
with  you  in  five  minutes." 

The  Colonel  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and 
looked  down  pityingly  and  tenderly  into  the 
death- white  face. 

"You  go,  Vivia!  You  look  fit  to  die  this 
moment.'' 

"  I  am  not  going  to  die.  I  never  was  so 
strong  before  iu  my  life.  Don't  say  a  word, 
papa,  it  is  of  no  use.  X  will  not  keep  you  five 
minutes." 

'  She  disappeared  in  the  Rose  Room  ;  and  both 
gentlemen  looked  after  her,  more  astonished  by 
the  sudden  and  complete  change  the  girl's 
whole  nature  seemed  to  have  undergone  within 
the  hour,  than  by  anything  that  had  happened 
that  night.  True  to  her  word,  site  was  back  in 
au  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  the  briHal- 
dress  doffed,  and  arrayed  in  mantle  and  liat. 
Again  objections  were  upon  the  Colonel's  iips  , 
but  they  died  out  at  sight  of  the  pale,  resoiute 
face. 

"  We  must  go  out  this  way."  she  said.  "  It 
will  never  do  to  go  down  stairs  and  pas.s  all 
these  people." 

She  led  the  way  to  another  fliglit  of  stairs  at 
the  opposite  end  of  the  hall,  and  the  three  went 
down,  and  out  of  one  of  the  side  dours,  into  the 
shrubbery.  The  bells  had  ceased  to  ring  ;  but 
the  fire-works  were  still  blazing,  the  music  still 
cliinging  ;  the  people  still  dancing  and  feasting — 
the  whole  park  like  a  glimpse  of  fairy-land. 
What  n  bitter  satire  it  all  wt^s  !  and  the  keenest 
pang^^l«rl3SIoneni»l  .jet  felt,  wrung  his  heart 


**l 


'  lOTHECA 


.    )SV'= 


too 


UN^IASKED ;  OR. 


as  he  drew  Vivia't  arm  within  hia  own,  anil  har- 
ried, by  Hiuulry  by-patha,  to  the  village.  Not 
one  word  was  8|iokeii  on  the  way.  They  hus- 
teued  aloni;,  and  aoun  came  in  uiglit  of  th«  cot- 
tage. A  liglit  alione  from  the  windows.  Tlie 
lawyer,  without  hesitation,  opened  the  door  and 
walke4l  in,  followed  by  ids  two  com|ianions. 
Old  Juditli,  cowering  and  shivering,  was  in  her 
oaiiul  seat.  A  tallow  candle,  in  a  dirtv  brass 
candlestick,  ilared,  and  glittered,  and  dripped 
big  tears  of  fat  all  over  it.      No  one  else  was 

E resent.  At  sight  of  them  she  shrank  away, 
olding  out  her  arms,  with  a  piteous  cry. 

"  Don't  take  me  away !  Don't  seuu  me  to 
prison!    I  confess  it  all — all — all !" 

"  What  have  you  to  confess  ?"  asked  Colonel 
Shirloy,  standing  sternly  before  ber. 

"  I  changed  them,  I  did !  I  changed  them,  I 
did  ;  but  I  never  meant  no  harm  !  O  good  gen- 
tlemen, liave  mercy!  I'm  an  old  woman  uqw, 
and  don't  send  me  to  prison  !" 

Vivia  bent  over  ber,  with  a  face  like  that  of 
an  angel. 

"  Vou  shall  not  be  sent  to  prison.  No  one 
will  harm  vou,  if  you  speak  tJie  truth.  Am  1 
your  granddanghier?" 

But  the  sound  of  the  sweet  voice,  the  sight  of 
the  lovely  face,  and  the  earnest  quehtion, 
seemed  to  act  worse  than  all  on  old  Judith  ;  for 
she  sprang  up  and  fled  into  the  farthest  corner 
of  tlie  room,  as  she  had  done  once  before,  long 
ago,  at  sight  of  Mr.  Sweet,  holding  out  her  arms 
in  ft  sort  of  horror. 

•'Speak,  woauin!"  cried  the  Colonel,  striding 
forward.  "Speak  at  once,  and  tell  me  , if  you 
gave  me  your  grauddaughter,  twelve  years  ago, 
and  kept  my  Ciild  ?'' 

••Pnpii,  papa,  she  is  iu  a  fit!"  exclaimed 
Vivia,  in  terror. 

It  was  true.  Whether  from  fear  cr  some 
other  cause,  the  wrelched  woman  had  fallen 
back  in  a  fit  of  paralysis,  her  features  black- 
ened and  convulsed,  the  foam  oozing  from  her 
lips— a  horrible  sigiit  to  look  on.  Of  all  the 
terrible  changes  of  that  fatal  bridal-night,  there 
was  nothing  to  equal  this;  and  Vivia  covered 
her  face  with  lier  hands,  and  turned  away,  shud- 
dering, from  the  revolting  8|iectacle. 

•'If  you'll  have  the  kindness  to  knock  at  the 
cottage  next  door,"  said  Mr.  Sweet,  who  had 
sipraiig  forward  and  lifted  her  up.  "  I  will 
place  her  on  the  bed  and  send  a  message  for  the 
doctor." 

The  Colonel  obeyed,  quite  horror-stricken, 
and  the  women  from  the  next  house  came  flock- 
ing in.  A  man  was  sent  in  hot  haste  to  Clif- 
tonlea  for  a  doctor,  and  Mr.  Sweet  consigned 
old  Judith  to  their  care. 

"  Do  any  of  you  know  where  her  son  is  ?" 
he  asked.  One  of  the  women  did  ;  and,  with 
numberless  courtesies  to  her  master  and  her 
young  lady,  told  how,  a  couple  of  hours  before, 
he  had  entered  the  cottage,  and,  after  staving 


for  some  ten  minutes,  had  left  it  again  in  hasto, 
and  took  the  road  for  the  town.  Then,  as  they 
could  do  no  more,  the  two  left,  and  paused  fur 
a  moment  out  in  the  moonlight. 

"Nothing  more  can  bu  Jone  to-night,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Sweet;  "and,  with  your  permis- 
sion, I  will  return  home." 

"  As  you  please  ;  but  I  shall  expect  you  very 
early  to-morrow,  and — your  wife  also.  Now 
tbut  we  have  couimenced,  this  matter  must  be 
investigated  to  the  bottom." 

Raising  his  hat  coldly  and  haughtily,  the 
Colonel  turned  away,  and  Mr.  Sweet  hurried  off 
rapidly  toward  his  own  home.  It  was  late  wheii 
he  reached  it — the  cathedral-cluck  was  striking 
eleven.  Most  of  the  houses  were  silent  and 
dark  ;  but  a  light  burned  in  his,  and  his  knock 
at  the  door  was  promptly  answered.  Elizabelli 
looked  rather  startled  ;  but  he  did  not  notice 
that,  and  hurried  at  once  into  the  parlor,  where 
his  wife  usually  sat  up  to  all  hours.  She  was 
not  there  to-night.  And  he  ran  up  to  ber  I'ooiii. 
She  was  not  there  either.  But  something  el«e 
was — something  that  made  Mr.  Sweet  p(\use  ua 
the  threshold,  as  if  a  hand  of  iron  had  thrust 
him  back.  Over  the  bed,  over  the  floor,  over 
the  table,  clear  in  the  moonlight,  lay  all  the 
gilts  he  had  ever  given  her,  before  and  after 
their  marriage.  Something  gleamed  at  his  feet. 
He  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  A  broken  ring- 
broken  into  three  or  four  pieces — but  he  knew 
it  at  once.  It  was  his  wife's  wedding-ring,  brok- 
en and  trodden  in  the  dust,  like  the  vows  she  I 
hud  pligiited — vows  that  were  brittle  as  glass- 
slippery  withes,  that  she  had  snapped  like  hnirs, 
and  trampled  under  her  feet  as  she  had  tiaiu- 
pied  the  ring  that  bound  them.  He  saw  all  in 
an  instant ;  and  in  that  instant  his  face  altereil  I 
so  frightfully,  that  no  one  would  have  kiionn 
it.  He  tore  down  the  stairs,  livid  with  fear  and 
fury,  to  find  himself  baffled  in  the  very  hour  of] 
triumph,  and  clutched  Elizabeth  by  the  arm  in  I 
a  terrible  grip. 

"  Where  is  your  mistress?"  he  cried,  furiously 

'•  Please,  Sir,  she  is  gone  !"  said  the  territieJ  I 
handmaid. 

"  Gone  I  Gone  where  ?  Speak,  or  111  strangle  I 
you!" 

"Please,  Sir,  I  don't  know.  The  gentlemnn 
went  away  ;  and  the  next  I  saw,  she  went  out 
the  back  way,  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl ;  ami  i' 
was  dark,  and  I  couldn't  see  where  she  went." 

"  Who  was  the  gentleman?  Who  was  he?' 
Mr.  Sweet  almost  screamed,  shaking  the  girl 
until  she  writhed  in  liis  grasp. 

"  Please,  Sir,  it  was  young  Mr.  Cliffe.  O  Lor', 
let  go  my  arm !" 

Mr.  Sweet  clapped  on  his  hat  and  rnslieJ 
out  like  a  madman.  Through  the  streets  lie 
tore,  knocking  down  everything  and  everybody 
that  came  in  his  way.  He  fled  through  Lower 
Cliffe,  through  the  park-gates,  up  the  aveiiiif. 
and  into  the  house.     Everybody  ran  screauiin 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFPE. 


101 


it  Rffain  in  haste, 

.     Thtii,  M  tlay 

I,  Boil  paused  fur 

It. 

i»o  to-night,"  re- 

bli   your  peruiis- 

expect  you  very 

wife    also.      Now 

matter  uiuat  be 

1  haughtily,  tlie 
Sweet  hurried  utf 

It  wat)  iatt)  wliuu 
lock  was  strilciiig 

were  silent  atiu 
is,  and  his  knock 
vered.  Elizabelli 
lie  did  not  notice 
the  parlor,  wlier« 

hours.  Shu  wag 
■n  up  to  her  room, 
it  something  eUe 
r.  Sweet  p<^use  oa 

iron  had  thrust 
er  the  floor,  over 
[ilight,  lay  nil  the 
,  hefore  and  after 
learned  at  his  feet, 

A  broken  ring- 
cea — but  he  knew 
redding-ring,  brok- 
like  the  vows  she 
(  brittle  as  glass- 
mapped  like  hftirs, 
;  as  she  had  trum- 
hi.  He  saw  all  in 
int  his  face  altereil 
iTould  have  known 
livid  with  fear  ami 
1  the  very  hour  of 
eth  by  the  arm  k 

he  cried,  furiously 
said  the  territieJ 

3ak,  or  111  strangle 

The  gentlemnn 
saw,  she  went  out 
and  shawl ;  an^l  i* 
where  she  went." 
?  Who  was  he?" 
I,  shaking  the  girl 

Mr.Cliffe.  OLor". 

is  hat  and  ruslieJ 
ugh  the  streets  lie 
ling  and  everybody 
led  through  Lower 
,es,  up  the  aveinK'. 
)ody  ran  screauuni; 


before  him ;  but  he  rushed  on  until  he  found 
biiusulf  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Uoland  Cliffe, 
Colonel  Shirley,  and  the  crowd  uf  unknown  la- 
dies and  gentlemen. 

"She  IS  gone  I  she  i  gono!"  he  screamed, 
fianlically.  " They  have  uoth  gone  together. 
My  wife  has  eloped  with  Leicester  Cliffe !" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHAT   LAY   ON   TUK   NUM'S  QRAVK. 

Within  the  memory  of  the  oldest   inliabitant, 
that   pleasant-spokeu   gentleman,  the  agent  of 
Lady  Agues  Shirley,  had  never  been  known  to 
be  otherwise  than  perfectly  self-possessed  and 
equal  to  any  emergency.     The  said   legal  gen- 
tleman   had    imuginea    himself    that    nothing 
earthly  cuuld  have  moved  his  admirable  sang 
froid ;  but,  on  the  present  occiisiou,  both  he  and 
the  oldest  inhabitant  found  their  mistake.    Ever 
afterward,  he  had  a  very  vague  and  mdistinct 
idea  of  what  followed  his  startling   announce- 
ment.    Ue  had  a  dim  recollection  of  a  sense  of 
suffocation  ;  of  a  roaring  sound  m  his  ears  ;  of 
being  the  centre  of  a  surging  sea  of  white  and 
terrified  faces ;  of  bearing  cries  and   exclama- 
tiuus ;  and,  deep  and  high  overall,  the  clear,  au- 
tlioritative   voice    of   Colonel   Shirley,    giving 
some  orders.     Then  he  felt  himself  carried  away 
and   laid  on  a  bed  ;  felt  mistily  that  some  one 
was  bleeding  him,  and  some  one  else   '  olding 
ice  to  his  hot  head  .  of  being  relieved  from  the 
unpleasant  sense  of  strangulation,  and  at  last 
oi  gradually  dropping  off  into  a  profound  and 
dreamless  sleep ;  and,  being  left  alone  in  his  dis- 
tant room  to  sleep  the  sleep  ot  the  just,  he  knew 
nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  other  parts 
of  the  great  mansion— how  Sir  Roland  Cliffe 
bad  dropped  down  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and 
been  borne  away  to  another  chamoer,  a  dread- 
ful sight — how  the  guests  had  all  dispersed  in 
consternation  and  dismay  ;  how  the  news  had 
flown  like  wildfire  through  the  town  ,  how  the 
lights  had  been  put  out,  the  tenantry  sent  home 
all  agape.  Castle  Cliffe  shut  up  in  silence   and 
darkness,  and  the  crowd  of  servants — an  hour 
before  so  busy  and  bustling— grouped  together 
in  the  lower  regions,  talking  in  hushed  and  awe- 
struck   whispers,  and   never  thinking   of  bed. 
How  Colonel  Sliirley  was  pacing  ceaselessly  up 
and  down  the   lower  hall,  and  unable  to  stop 
fur  one  instant ;  how  tiie   head  doctor  of  the 
town  was  flying  incessantly  from  Sir  Roland  to 
Lady  Agnes ;  and  how  she  who  should  have  felt 
it  all  the  most,  was  the  calmest  and  most  col- 
lected person  in  the  house.     In  a  simple  morn- 
ing-wrapper, all  her  bright  curls  gathered  up 
and  confined  in  a  net,  Yivia  bent  over  Lady 
Agnes,  very  pale,  very  quiet,  very  calm,  obey- 
ing all  the  doctor's  directions  implicitly  ;  and 
when  at  last  that  lady  consented  to  come  "«'  of 
aer    hysterics,   swallowed   an   opiate,  and   fell 
asleep,  the  ex-l>ride  left  her  to  the  care  of  a 
nurse,  and  went  away  to  her  own  room— her 


own  pretty  Hone  Uooni — wherein  she  hud  i»o 
often  Hlept  the  innocent  sleep  uf  fart-lrHo  girl- 
hood— that  Hh«>  never,  never  could  t»leep  inort'. 
Over  the  mantel,  looked  down  on  her  still  Ihu 
sweet,  n:aje8tio  face,  encircled  by  the  golden 
halo  ;  and  Vivia  dru(<ped  down  bilote  it,  her 
fuco  hidden  in  her  hands,  and  pinycd  ns  tmly 
those  pray  who  see  the  whole  Morld  darkening 
around  them,  and  no  light  but  the  light  of 
Heaven.  Long  ago,  wliuu  a  little  child,  she 
had  knelt  before  the  grtx^  altar  in  her  dear  old 
convent  in  sunny  France,  atid  prayed  as  she 
was  doing  now,  and  "Oh!"  cried  Vivias  heart, 
"if  1  had  only  died  then  !" 

And  Mr.  Sweet,  skepiiig  serenely,  as  all  good 
men  should  do,  knew  nothing  of  all  this,  and  nev- 
er woke  until  the  summer  sunbeams  were  glanc- 
ing in  through  the  curtains.    Then  he  awuke  with 
a  Jerk  from   some   unpleasant  dream,  and  roso 
slowly  up  on  his  elbow,  a  little  confustd  and  be- 
wildered still.     His  right  arm  felt  stifl'und  sore, 
and  looking  down,  he  saw  it  was  bandaged,  ami 
the  bandage  stained  with  blood.     That  recalled 
the    bleeding,   and    the    bleeding   recalled    the 
rest ,   and  feeling  his  head  a  little  hot  and  giddy 
still,  he  got  out  of  bed,  filled  a  basin  with  cold 
water,  and  plunged  his  cranium   into  it.      This 
cooling  process  had  the  desired   effect — having 
mop]ied   his  yellow  hair  dry  with  a  towel,  he 
felt  he  was  his  own  collecled,  clear-headed  Eelf 
again,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge   of  the  bed  to 
dress  himself  slowly,  and  think  over  all  that  had 
happened.      To  sleep  over  a  matter  sometinied 
changeH  its  complexion  very  materially  ;  and  Mr. 
Sweet's  first  idea  was  one  of  wonder,  how  hu 
ever  could   have  been   such  a  ninny  as   to  be 
overcome  for  a  moment  by  the  little  affair  of 
lust  night.     It  was  true,  all  the  plans  he  had 
be<n    forming    and    cherishing   so   long   were 
knocked  in  the  head  at  one  blow  ;  but  he  cou  <1 
s'ill  form    new  plans,  and  nobody  knew  better 
than  he  that  all  is  not  lost  that  is  in  danger. 
His  wife,  Colonel   Shirley's  daughter  and  heir- 
ess, hud  eloped,  to  be  sure ,  but  there  was  yet 
a  possibility  that  she  might  be  fonud  again  and 
reclaimed  ;  and,  for  his  part,  he  was  a  sufiicient- 
ly  good  Christian  to  overlook  the  little  episode 
and  take  her  back  aguin,  ns  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened.    Even  should  she  refuse  to  comeback — 
it  would  be  just  like  Barbara  to  do  it — that  did 
not  alter  in  the  least  the  facts  of  the  case,  she 
was  none  the   less   his  wife  and  the  heiress  of 
Castle  Cliffe.     The  only  thing  he  blamed  him- 
self for  was,  not  having  told  her  all  beforehand. 
It  might  have  prevented   this  disagreeable  con- 
tretemps.    But  It  was  too  lute   now,  and — 

Here  Mr.  Sweet's  meditations  were  cut  short 
by  a  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in !"  he  called ,  and  Hurst,  Colonel 
Shirley's  valet,  came  in  accordingly. 

"  Ah,  good-morning,  Hurst !"  aa'id  Mr.  Sweet, 
blandly,  hastily  putting  the  finishing  touches  t* 
his  toilet. 


Ill 

I 


i02 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


Mr.  ilurst  bowed  rtautiolfully. 

•'  Gcod-morning,  Sir!  Uow  do  you  find  your- 
■elf  tbit  morning  T' 

"  Much  b«tter,  tliauk  you— quite  well,  I  may 
nay." 

*'  Then  my  master  senda  hia  ooiiiplimeDta, 
and  bega  you  will  oumu  to  biiu  immediately." 

Mr.  Sweut  being  uuitu  aa  auxiuud  to  aee  tbu 
Colout'l  aa  tbat  geutltiiiiuii  could  puHaibly  be  tu 
bee  liiin,  needed  no  accuud  invilatluu,  and  fol- 
lowed Ibe  valet  witb  alaurity  tbruugli  vnriuua 
liiiliH,  down  ataira,  and  into  tlie  niorniug-ruom. 
(J  <lt>nel  Sbirley  was  there,  dressed  aa  on  tbe 
preceding  evening,  walking  restlessly  up  and 
down  atiTl,  and  looking  very  pule,  very  stern. 
He  stopped  and  glanced  searubingly  at  tbe  law- 
yer's tiielauolioly  face. 

"  Are  you  better?"  be  asked,  brii-fly. 

"  Quite  recovered,  tbunk  you.  1  scarcely 
know  yet  how  it  happened,  or  what  was  tbe 
matter  with  me." 

"  A  rush  of  blood  to  the  lieal,  or  something 
that  way.  I  hope  you  remember  tlic  extraor- 
dinary announoemeut  you  came  rushing  here 
witb,  just  aa  you  were  taken  V 

Mr.  Sweet  raised  a  pair  of  reproachful  eyes. 

"^It  would  be  still  more  extraordinary,  Colo- 
nel,'if  I  could  ever  forget  it.  When  a  man's 
wife  elopes,  it  is  not  likely  to  slip  from  hia 
memory  in  a  single  night." 

"  It  is  quite  true,  then  ?" 

"  Entirely  I" 

"  And  Barbara  has  fled  ?" 

"She  has." 

"  And  with  Leiceater  Cliffe  ?" 

Mr.  Sweet  put  bis  handkerchief  to  hia  eyes, 
and  tui*ued  away  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

"How  did  you  discover  it?  What  proof 
have  yuu  of  it  V  continued  the  Colonel,  rapid- 
ly, ousting  a  somewhat  cynical  eye  on  his  be- 
reaved companion. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact,  Colo- 
nel," said  tbe  lawyer,  in  a  tremulous  tone.  "  I 
wish  to  Heaven  there  was !  My  wife  kas  fled  ; 
and  Leicester  Cliffe  is  a  traitor  and  a  villain  !" 

"  Be  good  enough,  Sir,  to  keep  to  the  point. 
What  proof  have  you  of  what  you  aay  ?" 

"  Colonel,  last  night,  when  I  went  home,  my 
servant — we  keep  only  one — met  me  at  the 
door,  and  told  me  her  mistress  had  left  tbe 
house,  and  was  not  returned ;  that  Mr.  Leices- 
ter Cliffe  had  been  there  with  her  all  the  even- 
ing, and  tbat  his  departure  had  preceded  hers 
but  a  few  moments.  I  went  over  tbe  house  in 
search  of  her.  In  her  room  I  found  scattered 
about  all  I  had  ever  given  her — her  wedding- 
ring  broken  and  lying  on  tbe  ground  among  tbe 
rest.  There  was  no  longer  a  doubt ;  and,  almoat 
beside  myself,  I  came  here  with  tlie  news." 

"  And  tbat  is  all  the  proof  you  have  tbat 
that  they  have  fled  together  ?" 

"  I  scarcely  think  that  any  more  is  required. 


What  else  could  have  oauied  hia  abaenoa  laat 
night?" 

"  But  wby  in  Heaven'a  name  ahould  he  elopo 
with  yuur  wife  !"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  impa- 
tiently.    "  VV  bat  did  he  care  for  Barbara  ?" 

'*  A  great  deal.  Colonel  Shirley  I"  ai'id  Mr. 
Sweet,  quietly,  "  aiuce  he  waa  in  love  with  her, 
and  promiaeu  to  marrv  her,  before  ever  he  auw 
your  daugh — I  mean  Misa  Vivia  I" 

Colonel  Sbirley  stopped  in  hia  excited  walk, 
and  looked  at  him  wiiu  so  much  astonishment 
that  Mr.  Sweet  felt  called  upon  to  ex(dain. 

"  Lust  May  Day,  Sir  he  saw  her.  She  waa  the 
May  Queen  ;  and  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  I  taku 
it,  un  tbe  spot.  From  that  time,  until  he  wmt 
to  London,  they   were  inseparable.     The  peo- 

f>le  in  Lower  Cliffe  could  tell  you  the  mooii- 
igbt  walks  on  the  ahore,  and  tbe  sails  wft  tliu 
water ;  and  the  lodge-keepers  could  tell  yuu 
many  a  tale  of  their  rambles  in  tbe  park  undi-r 
tbe  trees.  Sir  Roland  knew  it  all  ;  but  he  took 
good  care  to  keep  silent ;  and  I  believe,  but  for 
him,  Mr.  Leicester  would  never  have  accepted 
my  Lady's  invitation,  and  gone  up  that  time  to 
London." 

Still  the  Colonel  stood  silently  looking  at  him, 
in  stern  inquiry. 

"  Tbe  evening  before  he  went,  Sir,  I  chanced 
to  be  strjiling  about  under  the  trees  down  there, 
near  the  Nun's  Grave,  when  I  haitpened  to  hear 
voices  ,  and,  looking  through  the  branches,  I  saw 
Mr.  Leicester  and  Barbara  together,  exchang- 
ing vows  of  love  and  promising  everlasting 
fidelity.  He  told  her — he  almost  swore — he 
would  marry  her  secretly,  when  he  came  back  ; 
and  they  would  fly  to  America,  or  some  other 
distant  place  ;  and  then,  not  wishing  to  be  an 
eavesdropper,  I  hurried  away  from  tbe  spot" 

"  Well,"  said  Colonel  Shirley,  bis  stern  eye 
still  unmovably  fixed  on  his  companion,  "  and 
how  camejjBarbara  to  marry  you  after  all  this  ?" 

"  For  spite,  Sir !  A  woman  would  sell  her 
soul  for  spite  ;  and  I,  I  loved  her  so  well  tbat  I 
was  only  too  hap|>y  to  marry  her,  no  matter 
what  was  the  motive." 

Again  Mr.  Sweet's  handkerchief  oame  in  re- 
quisition ,  and  Colonel  Shirley  seized  the  bell- 
rope  and  rang  a  violent  peal.  The  valet  ap- 
peared. 

"  Hurst,  bring  my  breakfast  immediately,  and 
order  round  my  horse  and  another  for  this  gen- 
tleman." 

Hurst  flew  to  obey.  Tbe  lawyer  used  his 
handkerchief,  and  the  Colonel  strode  up  and 
down  unceasingly,  until  breakfast  appeared. 
Mr.  Sweet  was  invited  to  take  a  seat,  which  he 
did ;  and,  despite  his  illness  and  his  bereave- 
ment, drank  the  strong  coffee  and  ate  Mie  but- 
tered waffles  with  infinite  relish.  But  the  Col- 
onel c^ither  ate  nor  drank ;  and,  throwing  a 
large  military  cloak  over  his  evening  costume, 
imoeratively  ordered  him  to  come  out,  mount, 
ana  follow  him. 


abienofl  lut 

mid  he  elopo 
ulunvl,  iuipu- 
»rbara?" 
y  !"  ii'Ml  Mr. 
ove  will)  lif  r, 
)  «ver  be  saw 

excited  Wftlk, 
astuiiiBhoifiit 
explain. 
.  She  WA8  the 
tU  her,  I  tuki) 
uutil  he  wiitt 
le.    The  pto- 
i)U  the  moon- 
a  suila  uf)  thu 
ould   tell  you 
10  pnrk  uudiT 
;  but  he  took 
elieve,  but  for 
iiiive  nooeptetl 
p  that  time  tu 

ooklng  at  him, 

3ir,  I  chanced 
>es  down  there, 
l>pened  to  hear 
tranches,  I  Baw 
ther,  exohang- 
ig  everlasting 
ost  Bwore — he 
he  caiue  back ; 
)r  Bome  other 
ling  to  be  an 
m  the  spot" 
his  stvrn  eye 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLITFE. 


108 


npaiuon, 


'  and 


after  all  this  ?»* 

nrould  sell  lier 

so  well  that  I 

ler,  no  matter 

ef  oame  in  re- 

leized  the  bell- 

The  valet  ap- 

mediately,  and 
er  for  this  gen- 

iWjer  used  his 
strode  up  and 
fast  appeared, 
seat,  which  he 
nd  his  bereave- 
nd  ate  Mie  bnt- 
But  the  Coi- 
n.l,  throwing  a 
ening  costume, 
me  out,  mount, 


"Where  to.  Sir  ?"  Mr.  Sweet  took  the  liberty 
of  iuquii'ng. 

*'  To  yuur  house,  Sir,"  the  Coluuel  a^twered, 
Bternlv. 

"  You  do  not  doubt  what  I  told  you,  Colo- 
nel ?" 

'*  I  shall  investigate  the  matter  myself,"  reit- 
erated the  Colonel,  coldly. 

"  And  after  that,  Sir  t"  again  Mr.  Sweet  ven- 
tured. 

"  After  that.  Sir?"  cried  the  Colonel,  turning 
his  pale  face  and  flashing  ayaa  full  on  his  com- 
])anion.  "  After  that,  I  shall  search  for  them, 
if  it  be  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  !  And  if,  when 
they  are  found,  things  should  turn  out  as  I 
mure  tlian  half  suspect,  yon,  Mr.  Sweet,  had 
beHer  look  to  yourself  I     Now,  come  on !" 

With  this  last  abrupt  order,  given  in  the  same 
ringing  tone  of  command  with  which,  in  former 
days,  he  had  headed  man  *  a. gallant  charge,  the 
Colonel  dashed  spurs  into  lis  horse  and  gallop- 
ed down  the  avenue.  Mr.  Sweet  followed  and 
kept  up  to  him  as  best  he  could,  in  silence  ;  for 
he  had  enough  to  do  tu  keep  up  within  sight  of 
bis  reckless  leader,  without  thinking  of  talking. 
Early  as  the  hour  was,  Cliftonlea  was  up  and  do- 
ing ;  and  the  people  stared  with  ail  their  eyes  as 
the  two  riders  dashed  past.  The  lawyer's  bouse 
was  soon  gained,  and  the  Indian  ofHoer  was 
etormitig  at  the  knocker  as  if  he  thought  it  was 
nn  enemy's  fortress.  Elizabeth  answered  the 
appalling  clatter,  so  terrified  by  the  noise  that 
sliu  was  fit  to  drop  ;  and  the  Colonel  strode  in 
and  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"  h  this  the  servant  you  spoke  of,  Mr. 
Sweet?" 

"  This  is  the  servant.  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Sweet. 

And  Elizabeth's  mouth  flew  open,  and  her 
complexion  turned  sea-green,  with  terror. 

"  My  good  girl,  you  need  not  be  frightened. 
I  am  not  going  to  hurt  you.  I  merely  want 
you  to  answer  me  a  fe^v  questions  What  time  did 
your  master  leave  home  yesterday  afternoon  ?" 

"  Please,  Sir,"  gasped  Elizabeth,  quaking  all 
over,  "  it  were  nigli  unto  seven  o'clock.  I  know 
I  was  in  the  hall  when  lie  went  out,  and  the 
clock  struck  seven  a  little  after." 

"Was  your  mistress  at  home  then?" 

••Please,  Sir,  yes.    Slie  was  in  the  parlor." 

••Who  was  with  her?" 

•♦Please,  Sir,  nobody.  It  was  after  that  he 
oome." 

"  Who  came  ?" 

'•  Young  Mr.  Cliffe,  please.  Sir— Mr.  Leices- 
ter." 

"How  ion«  did  he  stay?" 

"Please,  Sir,  a  good  long  while.     Hina  and 
misscB  was  a-talking  in  tiie  parlor ;  and  it  was 
'after  dark  wlien  be  went  away." 

"Did  your  mistress  go  with  him?  Did  he 
go  alone  ?" 

"  Please,  Sir,  yes.  And  misses  she  come  out 
all  drcBBed  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  a  little  after, 


and  went  out  the  bick  way  ;  and  she  ain't  ntver 
oome  back  sino«." 

"Do  you  know  which  way  she  went?" 
"  Please,  8ir,  no  ;  I  don't.     I  don't  know  noth- 
ing else      I  decliire  fur't,"  said   Elizabeth,  put- 
ting her  apron  to   her  countenance,  and  b«>j 
uing  to  whimper. 

It  WHS  quite  evident  she  did  not.  The  J'olo- 
nel  dropped  a  gold  coin  into  btr  band,  went 
out,  remounted,  followed  in  silence  still  by 
Elizabeth'^  master. 

"  To  Clitfuwood  !"  was  the  second  sententious 
order. 

And  agnin  away  they  galloped  over  "  brake, 
bush,  and  scar",  to  the  great  nieutul  and  physi- 
cal discomfort  of  one  of  them  at  bust. 

A  rumor  of  the  extraordinary  events  going  on 
at  the  castle  had  renched  Clifrtwood,  and  a  flick 
of  curious  Servants  met  them  ns  tbey  entered. 
The  Colonel  singled  out  one  of  them— Sir  Ro- 
land's cuufidential ;  and  he  folluwed  Ihe  two 
gentlemen  into  the  drawing-ruom. 

"  Edwards,"  he  began,  "  wlmt  time  did  Mr. 
Leicester  leave  here  fur  t  he  castle  yesterday  ? 
Sir  Roland,  you  know,  came  early,  and  he  re- 
mained behind." 

•'  I  know,  Sir  It  was  about  sunset  Mr.  Lei- 
cester loft,  I  think." 

•*  He  was  out  all  day.     Did  he  dress,  or  did 
he  leave  in  what  he  Imd  worn  previously?" 
"  No,  sir.     He  was  in  fall  evening  dress. 
"  Did  be  walk  or  ride  ?'"    • 
"  He  left  here  on  foot.  Sir." 
"  Do  you  know  which  way  he  took  ?" 
•'  Yes,  Sir.     He  took  the  road  direct  to  tlio 
town." 

•'  And  you  have  not  seen  or  heard  of  h'm 
since  ?" 
"  No,  Sir." 

The  Colonel  turned  as  abruptly  as  before,  and 
strode  out,  followed  still  by  the  mute  lawyer. 
"  To  Lovver  Cliffe  !"  came  again  tiie  order. 
And  once  more  they  were  dashing  through 
the  town,  on  and  on,  until  they  reached  the  roud 
that  turned  off  toward  the  village.  Here  the 
horses  were  left  at  the  Cross  Roads  Inn— an  inn 
where,  many  a  time  and  oft,  Leicester  Cliffe  had 
left  his  gallant  gray  when  going  to  visit  Bar- 
bara; and  they  struck  down  the  rocky  foot- 
path that  led  to  the  cottage.  The  wonderful 
news  had  created  as  much  sensation  in  the  vil- 
lage as  the  town,  and  curious  faces  came  to  the 
doors  and  windows  as  they  passed,  and  watched 
them  eagerly  until  they  vanished  within  Peter 
Black's  roof-tree.  The  cottage  looked  unusu- 
ally tidy,  and  three  gentlemen  etuod  near  one  of 
the  windows  conversing  earnestly  ;  and  in  those 
three  the  new  comers  recognized  :  Mr.  Jones,  the 
town  apothecary  ;  Squire  Channing,  the  village 
magistrate,  and  in  the  third,  no  less  an  individu- 
al than  the  Bishop  of  Cliftonlea.  This  latter 
august  persona),! e  held  in  bis  hand  a  pape* 
which   he   had  been   diligently  perusing  ;  am 


••I 


104 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


/j?3ie^ 


with  il  in  his  hand,  he  came  forward  to  address 
the  Colonel. 

"Ah!  you've  come  at  last!    I  feared  our 
messenger  would  scarcely  find  you  in  time." 

•'  What  mesenger  ?" 

"  Joe,  the  gamekeeper's  son.  Did  you  not 
see  him  ?" 

"  No.    What  did  you  want  of  me  ?" 

"  That  wretched  old  woman,"  said  the  Bishop, 
j'jrking  his  thumh  ovor  his  shoulder  toward  the 
door  of  Judith's  bed-chamber,  "recovered  her 
speech  and  her  senses  during  the  night,  as 
luanv  do  at  die  poii.t  of  death  ;  for  she  is  dying, 
and  becaui>j  frantic  in  her  entreaties  for  a  cler- 
gyman and  a  magistrate.  Considering  the  mat- 
ter, I  could  do  no  less  than  come  myself;  Mr. 
Channing  nccomptinied  me,  and  Mr.  Jones  fol- 
lowed sljortly  after,  but  too  late  to  b-  of  any 
service.     The  woman  is  at  the  point  of  death." 

"  And  what  did  she  want  ?" 

"  To  make  a  dying  deposition  concerning  the 
truth  of  the  story  Mr.  Sweet  told  you  last  night. 
She  stated  the  case  clearly  and  distinctly.  PJere 
it  is  in  black  and  white  ;  and  she  was  most  anx- 
ious to  see  you.  We  sent  Lhe  gamekeepers  son 
in  search  of  you  ;  and  Providence  must  have 
sent  you,  since  Joe  has  not  succeeded.  Come  in 
at  once.     There  is  no  time  to  lose.'' 

The  Colonel  followed  him  into  the  chamber. 
Old  Judith  lay  on  the  bed,  b-ir  eyes  restless,  and 
the  gray  shadow  of  coming  death  over  her  face. 
The  prelate  bent  over  her  in  his  urbane  way. 

"  My  good  woman,  here  is  Colonel  Shirley." 

T'liC  eyes,  dulling  in  death,  turned  from  their 
restless  wandering  and  fixed  themselves  on  the 
Colonel's  face. 

"  It  is  true  I"  she  whispered,  hoarsely.  "  It  is 
all  trte  !  I  am  sorry  for  it  now,  but  1  changed 
thcra ;  Barbara  is  your  child.  It  drove  her 
mad,  and  I'm  dying  with  it  all  on  my  guilty 
soul!" 

She  stopped  speaking  suddenly  ;  her  face 
turned  livid  ;  the  death-rattle  sounded  in  her 
throat ;  she  half  sprang  up,  and  fell  back  dead  I 
Colonel  Shirley  stood  for  a  moment  horror 
struck,  and  then  turned  and  hastily  left  the 
room,  tf  one  lingering  doubt  remained  on  his 
mind,  concerning  the  truth  of  the  story,  it  had 
all  vanished  now, 

"  She  has  gone  I"  said  the  Bishop,  addressing 
his  companions.  "  It  is  useless  remaining  long- 
er here.     L  Ji  us  go !" 

They  all  left  the  house,  and  bent  their  steps 
ia  the  direction  of  the  park-gates.  The  Col- 
one],  the  Bishop,  and  the  magistrate,  going  first ; 
the  lawyer  and  the  apothecary  following. 

"Have  you  seen  this  old  woman's  son — this 
Peter  Black?"  asked  Colonel  Shirley,  as  they 
walked  along. 

"  No !"  said  Mr.  Channing.  "  The  nurse  men- 
tioned that  he  had  not  been  seeu  sicce  yesterday 
eveoiug." 


"  Is  it  true  about  this  elopement  ?"  asked  the 
Bishop,  in  a  low  voice. 
•'  Quite  true." 

"How  dreadful  it  all  is,  and  yet  how  calmly 
you  bear  it,  Cliffe  ?" 

The  Colonel  turned  on  him  a  h)ok — a  look 
that  answered  him  without  words — and  they 
walked  on  in  silence.  When  the  Bishop  spoke 
again,  it  was  in  an  uncommonly  subdued  tone. 
"  How  are  Sir  Roland  and  Lady  Agnes,  this 
morning  ?  I  should  have  been  up  to  see,  but 
for  — " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  A  yell 
broke  the  silence- a  yell  to  which  an  Indian 
war-whoop  was  as  nothing ;  and  out  from  among 
the  treeo  burst  Joe,  the  game-keeper's  son,  with 
a  face  of  ghastly  whiteness,  hair  standing  on 
end,  and  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets.  At 
sight  of  them,  another  yell  which  he  was  setting 
up  seemed  to  freeze  on  his  lips,  and  he,  him- 
self, stood  stock-still,  rooted  to  the  spot.  At 
the  same  instant,  Squire  Channing  set  up  an 
echoing  shout: 

"There  goes  Tom  Shirley!  Look  how  he 
runs  ?" 

They  looked  ;  bursting  out  from  the  trees,  in 
another  direction,  was  a  tall  figure,  its  black 
hair  flowing.  It  vanished  again,  almost  as  soon 
a-s  it  appeared,  into  a  by-path  ;  and  they  turned 
their  attention  to  the  seemingly  horror-st;  uck 
young  person  before  them. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  has  frightened 
you,  my  boy  ?"  asked  the  Bishop. 

"Oh.  my  Lord  !  O,  Colonel  1  O,  Colonel !" 
gasped  Joe,  almost  paralyzed,  '*  he's  dead  !  he's 
killed  I  he's  murdered !" 

The  throe  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other, 
and  then,  in  wonder,  at  Joe. 

"  He's  up  here  on  the  Nun's  Grave  ;  he  is, 
with  his  head  all  smashed  to  pieces.  Come 
quick  and  see !"' 

They  followed  him  up  the  avenue,  into  the 
by-path,  under  the  gloomy  elms,  to  the  forsaken 
spot.  A  figure  lay  there,  on  its  face,  its  hat  off, 
a  horrible  gash  on  the  back  of  the  head,  where 
it  had  been  felled  down  from  behind— its  own 
fair  brown  hair,  and  the  grass  around,  soaked 
in  blood.  Though  the  face  was  hidden  in  the 
dust,  the  moment  they  saw  it  they  knew  who  it 
was,  and  all  recoiled  as  if  struck  back  by  a 
giant-hand.  It  was  the  Colonel  who  recovered 
first,  and,  stooping,  he  raised  the  body,  and 
turned  the  face  to  the  garish  sunlight.  The 
blood  thiit  had  rained  down  from  the  gash  in 
the  head  hnd  dipooior«id  it  all,  but  thoy  knew 
it— knew  that,  on  the  spot  where  he  had  prayed 
for  a  short  life  if  he  proved  false,  Leicester 
Cii£fe  lay  cold  and  dead ! 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IIAISON  DS   o'kVIL. 

Murdered !  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it-' 
this,  then,  was  where   the  bridegroom  was 


uu 

m< 
the 
hii 

fig 

OVi 

dai 

the 

his 

int 

lou 

iu 

am 

Dll 


r  asked  the 


how  calmly 

look— a  look 
B — and  they 
ishop  spoke 
bdued  tone. 
r  Agnes,  this 
p  to  see,  bub 

ed.  A  yell 
h.  an  Indian 
t  from  among 
er's  son,  with 
standing  on 
sockets.  At 
16  was  setting 
and  lie,  him- 
lie  spot.  At 
,g  set  up  an 

jook  how  he 

1  the  trees,  in 
re,  its  black 
Imost  as  soon 
3  tliey  turned 
horror-st;  uck 

las  frightened 

O,  Colonel !" 
e's  dead !  he's 

it  each  other, 

Grrave ;  he  is, 
deces.     Come 

mue,  into  the 
o  the  forsaken 
ice,  its  hat  off, 
8  head,  where 
aind— its  own 
round,  soaked 
hidden  in  tlie 
y  knew  who  it 
ttk  back  by  a 
vho  recovered 
he  body,  and 
unlight.  The 
m  tiie  gash  in 
>ut  thoy  knew 
he  had  prayed 
.Ise,  Leicester 


I. 

doubt  of  it— ' 
legroom  v&s 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


105 


While  Uiey  had  been  accusing  him  in  their 
thouglita,  and  vowing  future  vengeance,  he  had 
been  lying  here,  assussiuated  by  some  unknown 
baud.  The  faces  of  all  liad  wiiitencd  with  hor- 
ror at  the  sight ;  but  Culonei  iSbirley,  whose 
■tern  calmness  nothing  seemed  able  to  move, 
lifted  his  head  au  instant  after,  with  a  face  that 
looked  as  if  changed  to  stone. 

"  A  horrible  murder  has  been  done  here  I 
My  boy,"  turning  to  Joe,  whose  teeth  were  chat- 
tering in  his  head,  "  how  and  when  did  you  dis- 
cover this  ?" 

"It  were  just  now.  Sir,"  replied  Joe,  keeping 
far  from  the  bodv.  and  looking  at  it  in  intensest 
terror.  "  My  lord  and  Mr.  Clianning,  they 
sent  me  up  to  the  Caslie  a-looking  fur  you. 
Sir,  and  you  wasn't  there  ;  and  1  was  a  coming 
back  to  tell  ihem,  so  I  was,  down  this  way, 
which  it's  a  short  cut  to  Lower  Cliffe  ;  and  as  I 
got  here,  I  saw  a  man  standing  up  and  looking 
down  on  this  here,  which  it  were  Mr.  Tom  Shir- 
ley, OS  I  knowed  the  minute  I  seen  him.  Then, 
Sir,  he  turned  round,  and  when  he  saw  me,  he 
ran  away  ;  and  then  I  saw  him  lying  there,  all 
over  blood  ;  and  I  got  frightened  aad  ran  away, 
too ;  and  then  I  met  you ;  and  that'^  every- 
thing I  know  about  it." 

"Can  Tom  Shirley  be  the  murderer  ?"  asked 
the  Bishop,  in  a  low,  deep  voice. 

'•  Circumstances,  at  least,  are  strong  enough 
against  him  to  warrant  his  arrest,"  satil  Mr. 
Channing.  "  As  a  magistrate,  I  feel  it  my  duty 
to  go  in  search  of  him  before  he  escapes." 

Ue  hurried  away,  as  he  spoke  ;  and  the  Col- 
onel, taking  o£f  liis  large  military  cloak,  spread 
it  on  the  ground. 

"Ueip  me  to  place  the  body  on  this,"  he  said, 
quietly  ;  and,  with  the  asjistanco  of  Mr.  Sweet, 
tue  still  bleeding  form  was  laid  upon  it,  and  cov- 
ered from  the  mocking  sunlight  iu  its  folds. 
Then,  ut  another  motion  from  the  Colonel,  (he 
apothecary  and  the  lawyer  lifted  it  by  the 
lower  ends,  while  he  himself  tool  tlie  head  and 
they  slowly  turned  with  their  droadful  burden 
toward  the  house.  Joe  followed  at  a  respectful 
distance,  still  with  au  excessively  scared  and 
horrified  visage. 

Mr.  Channing  had,  meantime,  been  making 
au  arrest.  Getting  over  the  ground  with  tre- 
mendous sweeps  of  limb,  he  had  nearly  reached 
the  house,  thinking  to  call  the  servants  to  aid 
him  in  his  search,  when  he  espied  a  tall,  dark 
figure  leaning  against  a  tree,  one  arm  thrown 
over  a  higlt  urauch,  and  the  head  with  all  its 
dark  curls,  bare  to  the  morning  breeze,  lying 
thereon.  The  magistrate  went  up  and  dropped 
his  band  heavily  on  the  shoulder  of  the  droop- 
ing figure,  and  Tom  Shirley  lilted  his  face  and 
looked  at  him.  What  a  face  !  What  a  change 
iu  a  few  brief  days  1  Usually  it  was  red  enough 
and  bold  enough ;  but  now  it  was  almost  ghast- 
ly in  ita  thinness  and  pallor.  The  face  of  the 
iuurd»red  man  could  scarcely  have  been  more 


oorpse-like— the  black  hair  heightening  the  ef* 
feet,  as  it  hung  damp  and  disordered  around  it, 
and  the  llaok  eyes  looking  unnaturally  large 
and  sunken.  Nothing,  Me.  Channing  thought, 
but  remorse  for  some  enacted  crime  could  have 
wrought  so  vivid  a  change  ;  but  then,  perhaps, 
Mr.  Chaniiing  had  never  been  in  love — at  all 
events,  so  crazily  in  love — and  been  jilted,  like 
poor  Tom  Shirley. 

"  Well  I"  said  Tom,  in  a  voice  as  hollow,  and 
changed,  and  unnatural  as  his  face. 

"  Mr.  Shirley,  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  arrest 
you." 

Tom  8pr.\ng  erect  as  if  some  one  had  struck 
him. 

"  Arrest  me !     What  do  you  mean  ?' 

"  Mr.  Shirley,  I  .>m  very  soriy ;  but  duty 
must  be  fulfilled,  and  it  is  mine  to  make  you  my 
prisoner." 

"Your  prisoner.  Sir!"  cxclaimod  Tom,  in 
somethio;^  like  his  customary  tone,  ehaking  him 
off  as  if  ho  had  been  a  baity.  "  On  what 
charge  ?" 

"  On  that  of  murdering  your  cou^iiu,  Leices- 
ter Cliffe." 

Tom  stood  perfectly  still — stunned.  A  vol- 
ley of  fierce  words,  that  had  been  rising  hotly 
to  his  lips,  seemed  to  freeze  there.  11  is  face 
turned  dark-red,  and  then  whiter  tiiau  Lofore, 
and  the  arm  he  had  raised  dropped  po«\erlc8S 
by  his  side.  Whatever  the  euuitiou  which 
prompted  the  display,  the  magistrate  set  it 
down  to  one  cause,  guilt ;  and  again  laid  his 
hand  firmly  on  the  young  man's  siiouldcr. 

"I  regret  it,  Tom,  but  it  must  bo  done.  I 
beg  you  will  not  offer  any  resistance,  but  will 
come  with  me  peaceably  to  the  housie.  Ah! 
there  they  go  witli  the  body,  now !" 

Tom  compressed  his  lips  and  lifted  up  his 
head. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  Mr.  Channing.  It  mat- 
ters very  little  what  becomes  of  me  one  way  or 
the  other!" 

He  raised  his  hat  from  the  ground,  to  which 
it  had  fallen  ;  and  they  walked  on  togather,  side 
by  side.  The  body  was  borne  before  them  into 
the  morning-room,  and  through  that  into  a 
smaller  one,  used  by  Yivia  as  a  studio.  It  was 
strewn  with  easels,  blank  canvas,  busts,  and  lay 
figures  ;  and  on  a  low  coucli  therein  tjieir  bur- 
den was  laid.  The  cloak  was  removed.  The 
Colonel  sent  one  of  tho  servants  iu  bourch  of  the 
physician,  who  had  remained  all  ni^^ht  in  the 
house,  sternly  warning  the  rest  not  to  let  a 
word  of  the  event  reach  tlie  ears  of  Lady  Agnes 
or  the  young  ladies.  Hurst  brought  in  warm 
water  and  sponge,  and  thn  blood  was  washed 
off  the  dead  face.  It  was  perfectly  calm— there 
was  no  distortion  to  mar  its  al:iio3t  uomanly 
beauty,  or  to  show  that  he  had  suffered  iu  th« 
last  struggle.  The  blue  eyes  were  wide  o]>cn  iu 
the  cold  glaze  of  death  ;  and  the  Bishop,  bend- 
ing down,  had  just  closed  them  reverently,  at 


106 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


Che  pbysiciaD  oame  in.  Tb«  examination  that 
followed  wai  brief.  Tbe  blow  bod  evidently 
been  grren  by  a  tbick  club,  and  be  bad  been 
struck  but  once—deaib  following  almost  instan- 
taneously. Tbe  deed,  too,  from  tbe  appearance 
of  tbe  wound,  must  bave  been  committed  some 
bours  previously ;  for  tbe  blood  on  bis  clothes 
was  tbickly  clotted  and  dry.  In  silence  tbey 
left  tbe  studio  and  gatbered  together  in  tbe 
morning-room.  Tbe  Colonel  bad  warned  tbe 
servants  to  keep  quiet ;  but  who  ever  knew 
warnings  to  avail  in  such  cases  ?  Half-a-dozen 
gentlemen,  the  guests  who  bad  remained  in  the 
bouse  tbe  previous  night,  had  been  told,  and 
were  there  already.  Tbe  magistrate  bad  taken 
a  seat  of  authority,  and  prepared  to  bold  a  sort 
of  inquest  and  investigate  the  matter.  The 
prisoner  stood  near  a  windovz,  drawn  up  to  bis 
lull  height,  with  folded  arms,  looking  particu- 
larly proud,  and  especially  scornful,  guarded  by 
Messrs.  Sweet  and  Jones.  The  Colonel  took  a 
seat,  nnd  motioned  the  rest  to  follow  his  exam- 
ple ;  and  Mr.  Channing  desired  Hurst,  keeping 
aentry  at  the  door,  to  call  in  Joe. 

Joe,  standing  in  tlie  ball,  telling  bis  story 
over  and  over  again  to  a  curious  crowd  of  serv- 
ants, came  in,  looking  scared  as  ever,  and  told 
bis  tale  once  more,  keeping  to  the  same  facts 
steadily,  in  spite  of  any  amount  of  cross-ques- 
tioning. When  this  first  witness  was  disnrssed, 
the  Bishop  turned  to  the  prisoner. 

"  Tom,  what  have  you  to  say  to  all  this  ?" 

"  Nothing,  my  Lord," 
'      •'  Is  what  this  boy  says  true  ?    Did  be  really 
discover  you  by  tbe  body  ?" 

'Uedid." 

"  And  why,  if  you  are  not  guilty,  should  you 
fly  at  bis  approach  f " 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  Joe  makes  a 
mistake  there  ;  for  I  never  sitw  him  at  all." 

"  And  bow  do  you  account  for  your  presence 
there?" 

"'Very  simply,  my  Lord.  I  chanced  to  be 
walking  through  the  ground?,  and  came  to  that 
particular  spot  by  mere  accident." 

"  How  long  bad  you  been  there  when  Joe  dis- 
covered you  ?" 

"  I  didi  not  remain  five  minutes  altogether. 
I  saw  and  recognized  who  it  was  ;  and  when  I 
recovered  from  the  first  shock  of  horror,  I 
turned  and  fled  to  give  the  alarm." 

Mr.  Chnnuing  leaned  over  and  spoke  in  a  low 
voice  to  Colonel  Shirley. 

"Some  one  told  me,  when  here  last  evening, 
that  the  prisoner  has  been  absent  for  several 
days— is  it  true  ?'f 

"  Yes." 

"Mr.  Shirley,"  said  tbe  magistrate,  speaking 
uloud,  "'yoa  have  been  absent  for  the  past  week 
—Will  you  inform  us  whe.-e?" 

"  I  have  bee  a  absent,"  said  Tom,  coldly.  "  I 
liave  been  in  CUftonlcn." 

"  Wbcri»  !• 


"  At  tbe  Clifle  ArQis.'* 

"  Why  were  you  not  at  bome  f" 

**  I  decline  answering  that  question,  Sir.** 

"  Were  you  in  tbe  town  last  night  ?" 

"  No,  Sir ;  I  was  on  the  grounds  1" 

Everybody  looked  at  each  other  blankly. 
Tom  stood  up  bauirbty  and  defiant,  evidently 
perfectly  reckless  what  be  admitted. 

"It  IB  very  strange,"  said  Mr.  Channing, 
slowly,  "  tliat  you  should  bave  been  there  in- 
stead of  the  bouse  here — your  proper  place. 
What  reasons  bad  you  for  such  a  course  ?" 

"I  decline  answering  that  question,  too  !  I 
decline,"  said  Tom,  wilb  comprosBed  lips  and 
flashing  eyes,  "  answering  any  more  questions 
whatever.  My  motives  are  my  own  ;  and  you 
nor  any  one  else  shall  ever  bear  them  !" 

There  was  very  little  need  for  Tom  to  make 
his  motives  known.  Not  one  preeent — the  Col- 
onel, perb'ips,  alone  exceptea— but  knew  bow 
niaiily  be  had  l)een  in  love  nitb  bis  cousin,  and 
that  his  furious  jealousy  of  ^the  accepted  lover 
had  driven  bim  from  bome.  All  knew  bis  vio- 
lent temper,  too ;  his  fierce  outbursts  of  passion  ; 
and  believing  hira  guilty,  not  one  of  tbem 
needed  to  be  told  the  cause  of  bis  prowling 
about  in  the  grounds  in  secret  last  night.  Dead 
silence  followed,  broken  by  a  rap  at  the  door. 
Huriit  opened  it,  ond  the  gamekeeper  entered, 
carrying  in  his  hand  a  great  bludgeon,  all  stain- 
ed witii  blood  and  thickly-matted  tufts  uf  hair. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  tbe  man,  coming  forward 
nnd  bowing,  "  this  here  is  what  did  the  deed  I 
I  found  it  lying  among  the  marsh  grass,  where 
it  bad  been  chucked.  You  can  see  the  blood 
and  the  hairs  sticking  in  it.  I  know  the  stick 
very  well.  I  have  seen  it  lying  down  there  near 
the  Nun's  Grave  fifty  times." 

The  gentlemen  examined  the  slick — a  mur- 
derous-looking bludgeon,  with  a  thick  head,  full 
of  great  knobs  and  knots— capable,  in  a  strong 
hand,  of  felling  an  ox. 

"  And,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  gamekeep- 
er, "  I  have  something  else  to  say.  Last  eve- 
ning, about  halt-past  eight,  as  I  was  standing 
down  near  the  park  gates,  I  saw  Mr.  Leicester 
come  through,  walking  very  fast.  I  thought,  of 
course,  he  was  going  up  to  tbe  Castle,  and  had 
come  through  LowcrCliflfeby  way  of  a  sliort  cut. 
"  Was  he  alone  ?"  asked  Mr.  Channing. 
"  Yes,  Sir." 

"  Did  you  see  any  one  following  him  ?"' 
"  I  didn't  wait  to  see.  Sir.   Me  and  some  more 
went  up  to  see  tiie  fireworks,  and  that  was  the 
last  I  saw  of  him." 

"  I  thii  k  the  facts  are  quite  strong  enough  to 
warrant  his  committal,"  said  Mr.  Cliauniug  to 
the  Colouc ' 
"  I  think  so  !"  was  the  cold  reply. 
And  the  warrant  of  committal  was  made  oufc 
immediately.     Then  there  was  a  general  upris-' 
ing  ;  a  carriage  was  ordered,  and  Mr.  Channin/ir' 
I  approached  Tom.  > 


Sir.** 

r  blunklv. 
evidently 

Chaimiog, 
there  in- 
)er  place, 
rse  ?'' 
a,  too  I  I 
\  lipa  and 
questions 
;  and  you 
i!" 

ri  to  make 
—the  Col- 
knew  how 
ousin,  and 
pted  lover 
3W  bis  vio- 
}f  passion ; 
a  of  them 

prowlin 

gbt.   Dca< 

the  door. 

;r  entered, 

1,  all  stain- 

;s  of  hair. 

ig  forward 

the  deed  I 

ass,  where 

the  blood 

r  the  stick 

there  near 

k — a  mur- 
k  head,  full 
iu  a  strong 

gamekeep- 
Last  eve- 
B  standing 
Leicester 
bought,  of 
e,  and  bad 
I  sliort  cut. 
aing. 

im?' 

some  more 
lat  was  the 

enough  to 
launiug  to 


9  made  oufc 

leral  upria-J 

Cbauniofr' 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


107 


"  I  nm  sorry — I  am  very  sorry— but — " 

"  Don't  distress  yourselt,  Mr.  Ghanning,"  said 
Tom,  cynically.  "  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you 
at  any  moment." 

The  Bishop  came  over,  and  began,  in  his  ur- 
bane  way,  some  pious  admonition ;  to  which 
Tom  listened  as  unmoved  as  if  he  were  tallying 
Greek.  The  carriage  came  round  to  the  door, 
and  be  and  Mr.  Channing  turned  to  go.  One 
glance  he  cast  back  toward  the  Colonel ;  but 
he  was  standing  with  his  face  averted  ;  and  Tom 
passed  the  great  portico  of  Castle  Cliffe,  the 
home  of  bis  boyhood,  for  the  last  time,  and  in 
five  minutes  was  on  his  way  to  Cliftonlea  jail, 
to  be  tried  for  his  life  on  charge  of  willful  murder. 

And  still  the  news  fled  ;  and  while  the  exam- 
ination was  going  on  below,  it  had  been  whis- 
pered, up-stairs  and  down-stairs,  nnd  had  reach- 
ed the  ears  of  her  who  should  have  been  the 
last  to  henr  it.  As  all  slowly  dispersed  from 
tlie  morning-room,  the  Colonel  turned  into  the 
studio  to  take  one  last  look  at  wliat  lay  there, 
and  found  that  another  had  preceded  him.  Be- 
sides, the  door  of  communication  with  the  morn- 
ing-room, the  studio  had  anotlier  opening  in 
the  hall.  It  stood  wide  now  ;  and  standing  over 
the  rigid  form,  gnzing  at  it  as  if  the  sight  were 
slowly  turning  h'-r   to  marble,  was  Vivia! 

"  V ivia  !  My  God  !"'  cried  the  Colonel,  in 
horror.     "  Wluit  do  you  do  here?" 

She  turned  nnd  lifted  her  eyes  ;  and  the  next 
moment,  without  word  or  cry,  she  had  fallen 
back  senseless  in  his  arms. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  ever 
seen  Vivia  faint.  She  was  of  too  sanguine  a 
temperament  for  that;  and  he  nearly  tore  the 
bell  down  in  his  frantic  summons  for  help,  as 
he  quitted  the  room  of  death  and  carried  her  up 
to  her  chamber.  Jeannette  came  in  dismay, 
with  smelling-salts  and  cologne ;  and  leaving 
hep  iu  lier  charge,  the  Colonel  went  out.  In 
the  hall  he  was  encountered  b^  Margaret,  look- 
ing, like  everybody  else,  pale  and  wild. 

"Is  it  true?  What  is  this  story  they  are 
telling?    Has  Leicester  Cliflfe  been  murdered  ?" 

"  Margaret,  go  to  your  room  !  It  is  no  story 
for  you  to  hear  !" 

"I  must  hear!"  exclaimed  Margaret,  in  a 
suppressed  voice,  her  dark  eyes  filling  with  a 
dusky  fire.     "  Tell  me,  or  I  shall  die !" 

He  looked  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  Margaret,  you  are  ill.  You  look  like  a 
ghost!  Do  go  to  your  own  room  and  lie 
down." 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  or  shall  I  go  and  see  for 
myself?" 

"  If  you  will  hear  such  horrors,  it  is  quite 
true  !    He  has  been  murdered !" 

"  And  they  have  arrested  some  one  for  it," 
she  hoarsely  whispered. 

'*  They  have  arrested  Tom  Shirley." 

Sh«  clasped  both  hands  over  her  heart,  and  a 
spasm  crossed  her  face. 


"  And  do  you  believe  him  guilty  ?" 

"  I  do,"  he  coldly  and  sternly  said. 

She  sank  down  with  a  sort  of  cry. 

But  he  had  other  things  to  think  of  besides 
her ;  and  he  left  her  leaning  against  the  wall,  her 
hands  still  clasped  over  her  heart,  and  her  face 
working  in  a  sort  of  inwar<i  anguish.  So  she 
stood  for  nearly  an  hour,  without  moving,  and 
then  Jeannette  came  out  of  the  Hose  Room, 
crying  and  wiping  her  eyes,  followed  by  Vivia, 
who  seemed  to  have  no  tears  to  shed. 

"  You  ought  to  lie  down  and  be  nurssd  your- 
self. Mademoiselle,  instead  of  going  to  nurse 
other  people,"  cried  the  bonne.  "  You  are 
hardly  fit  to  stand  now  I" 

"  It  will  not  be  for  lon^,  Jeannette,"  said 
Vivia,  wearily.  "  All  my  labors  here  will  soon 
be  at  an  end." 

*'  Your  grandmamma  won't  see  you,  either ; 
so  your  going  is  of  no  use.  Horteuse  told  me 
that  she  gave  orders  you  were  not  to  be  admit- 
ted to  her  room." 

It  was  quite  true.  In  the  revulsion  of  feeling 
that  followed  the  awakening  from  her  hysteria, 
Lady  Agnes  had  been  seized  with  »  violent 
aversion  to  seeing  her  once  almost  idolized 
granddaughter.  She  could  no  longer  think  of 
her  without  also  thinking  of  her  connectiou»| 
with  some  wretched  old  woman  in  Lower  ClifFe 
and  a  returned  transport.  She  felt— unjustly 
enough — as  if  Vivia  had  been  imposing  on  her 
all  her  life,  and  that  she  never  wanted  to  see 
her  again.  And  so,  when  Hortense  openel  the 
door  m  answer  to  the  well-known  gentle  tap, 
she  was  quietly  and  firmly  refused  admittance, 
and  the  door  civilly  shut  in  ht-r  face.  It  was 
only  one  more  blow  added  to  the  rest — only  ful- 
filling the  rude  but  expressive  adage,  •  '.Vuen  n 
dog  is  drowning,  every  one  offers  him  water"; 
but  Vivia  tottercl  as  she  received  it,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  clinging  to  the  gilded  stair-balus- 
trade for  support,  with  everything  swimming 
around  her.  Then  this,  too,  passed,  as  all  blows 
do  .  and  she  walked  back,  almost  tottering  as  ^be 
went,  to  her  own  room. 

Even  there,  still  another  blow  awaited  hers ' 
Margaret  stood  in  the  middle  of  tb«  floor*  ber 
face  livid,  her  eyes  blazing. 

"  0  Margaret !"  was  Vivia"^  cry,  as  she  drop- 
ped her  head  on  her  shouMer. 

But  Margaret  thrust  her  off  with  repulsion. 

"  Don't  touch  me— don't  I"  she  said,  in  the 
same  suppressed  voice.     "  You  murderess  !" 

Vivia  had  been  standing  looking  at  her  as  a, 
deer  does  with  a  kiiife  at  its  throat,  but  at  the 
terrible  word  she  dropped  into  a  seat,  as  if  the 
last  blow  she  could  ever  receive  bad  fallen. 

"You,"  said  Margaret,  with  her  pitiless  black 
eyes  seeming  to  scorch  into  her  face,  and  her 
voice  frightful  in  its  depth  of  suppressed  pas- 
(gjon — '♦  you,  who  have  walked  all  your  life  over 
our  heads  witl»  a  ring  and  a  clatter — yon,  who 
are  nothing,  after  all,  but  a  pitiful  upstart —you 


108 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


A    ; 


who  have  been  the  curse  uf  my  life  and  of  all 
who  have  ever  known  you.  I  tell  you,  you  aro 
n  double  murderess!  for  not  only  is  his  blood 
on  your  head  who  lies  down  there  a  ghastly 
corpse,  but  another  who  will  die  on  the  scaffold 
foryour  crime!" 

The  corpse  down-stairs  could  scarcely  have 
looked  more  ghastly  than  did  Vivia  herself  at 
tliiit  mom«iit.  Her  white  lips  parted  to  speak, 
but  no  suuud  came  forth.  Pitilessly  Margaret 
wenten  .- 

"  You.  who  stood  so  high  and  queenly  in  your 
pride,  could  stoop  to  lure  and  wile,  like  any 
other  co4uette— could  win  hearts  by  your  false 
smiles,  and  then  cast  them  in  scorn  from  your 
feet.  I  tell  you,  I  despise  you  !  I  hate  you  I 
You've  brought  disgrace  and  ruin  on  him,  on 
all  couneoted  with  you,  and  you  have  broken 
my  heart!" 

"  O  Margaret !  have  you  no  mercy  ?" 

"None  for  such  as  you!  I  loved  him — I 
loved  him  with  my  whole  heart,  ten  thousand 
times  better  than  you  ever  could  do,  and  you 
had  no  mercy  on  me.  You  won  his  heart,  and 
then  cast  it  from  you  as  a  child  does  a  broken 
toyl" 

"  Margaret,  listen  to  me.  I  will  be  henrd  ! 
I  know  vou  loved  Leicester,  but  it  was  not  luy 
fault  that—" 

Margaret  broke  into  a  hysterical  laugh. 

"  Loved  Leicester  I  Is  she  a  fool  as  well  as  a 
miserable  jilt?  Oh,  you  might  have  married 
him  with  all  my  heart !" 

"And  who,  then—.  Margaret,  is  it  possible 
you  are  speaking  of  Tom  Shir—" 

"  No  !"  cried  Margaret,  holding  out  her  hands 
with  a  sort  of  scream,  "  not  his  name  from  your 
lips!  Oh,  I  loved  him,  you  know  it  well ;  and 
now  he  is  to  be  tried  for  his  life,  and  all  through 
you !  Murderess  you  are — adouble  murderess ; 
for  if  he  dies  it  will  be  through  you,  as  mucli 
as  if  you  placed  the  rope  around  his  neck  !" 

Vivia  had  dropped  down,  with  her  face  hid- 
den in  her  lands. 

"  Margaret,  spare  me !  Oh,  what  have  I 
done — what  have  I  done,  that  all  should  .'irn 
from  me  like  this?  iMiirgaret,  I  am  going 
nway.  I  am  going  back  to  my  convent  in 
France,  where  1  shall  never  trouble  you  nor 
anybody  else  again.  All  the  world  has  turned 
atrainst  me ;  but  there,  at  least,  I  can  go  and 
die !" 

"  Go,  then  ;  the  sooner  the  better.  You  are 
no  longer  needed  here." 

*'0h,  I  know  it!  All  have  turned  against 
me  —  all  whom  I  love;  and  I  would  die  for 
them.  Even  you,  Margoret,  might  forgive  me 
now." 

"  Ask  forgiveness  from  God  !    I  never  will." 

Yivia's  head  dropped  down  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair. 

Mnrgaret  left  her,  sought  her  own  room,  and 
appeared  no  more  that  day. 


In  the  gray  dawn  of  the  next  morning,  when 
the  first  train  went  siJ-ieking  from  the  Clifton- 
lea  depot,  on  its  way  to'  London,  a  slight,  girl- 
ish figure,  shrouded  in  a  long  mantle,  and 
closely  vailed,  glided  in,  took  a  seat  in  a  re- 
mote corner,  and  was  borne  swiftly  away  from 
the  home  to  which  she  had  returned  so  short  a 
time  before  like  a  triumphant  queen,  which  she 
now  left  like  a  stealthy  culprit. 

That  same  moraine.  Colonel  Shirley  found  a 
baief  note  lying  on'liiBdressing-table,  that 
moved  him  more  than  alltTtei.  strange  and  trag- 
ical events  of  the  past  two  days  : 

"DiAs  Papa  :— Let  me  call  you  iio  this  once,  for  tlie 
last  time.  When  you  read  this,  I  shall  be  far  away  ;  but 
I  could  not  go  without  saying  good-bye.  I  am  going 
bacic  to  my  dear  France,  to  my  dear  convent,  where  I 
was  so  happy  ;  and  I  shall  strive  to  atone  by  a  life  of 
penance  for  the  misery  I  have  caused  you  all  to  suffer. 
Dear,  dear  papa,  I  shall  love  you  and  pray  for  you  al- 
ways i  and  I  know,  much  as  you  have  been  wronged, 
you  will  not  quite  forget  Vivia. 

She,  too,  was  lost !  Down  below,  Leicester 
Cliffe  Jay  dead.  Tom  Shirley  was  in  a  felon's 
cell.  In  his  room.  Sir  Roland  lay  ill  unto  death. 
Lady  Agnes  and  Margaret,  shut  up  in  tiieir'own 
apartments,  never  came  out ;  and  he  was  left 
utterly  alone.  Truly,  Castle  Clifi'e  was  a  house 
of  mourning.  ^^ 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    SENTENCE. 

The  August  roses  were  in  full  bloom,  in  the 
scorching  heat  of  early  afternoon,  within  a 
pietty  garden,  in  a  pretty  village,  some  miles 
trom  London,  as  a  gig,  holding  two  gentlemen, 
drove  through  the  wooden  gates,  and  up  a 
shaded  avenue,  toward  a  large  brick  building. 
The  gentlemen — one,  tall  and  handsome,  with  a 
grand,  kingly,  sort  of  face,  and  dark,  grave 
eyes  ;  the  other,  middle-sized,  but  looking  puny 
compared  wiih  his  companion,  a  very  shining 
personage,  with  yellow  tmseled  hair,  wearing  a 
bright  buff  wuiscoat,  and  a  great  profusion  of 
jewelry — alighted  before  the  principal  entrance. 
A  stout  little  gentleman,  standing  on  the  steps 
awaiting  tliem,  rati  down  nt  their  appro.'ich,  and 
shook  hands  with  tliis  latter,  in  the  manner  of 
an  old  friend. 

'•  Good  afternoon.  Mr.  Sweet !    It  is  a  sight  f 
sair  een,  as  the  Scotcli  say,  to  see  you  again.' 

"  Thank  you.  Doctor,"  said  the  tinseled  in- 
dividual. *'  This  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you 
.if.     Doctor  South,  Colonel  Shirley  !" 

The  Doctor  bowed  low,  and  the  Colonel  rais- 
ed his  hat. 

"  You  are  welcome.  Colonel !  I  presume  you 
have  come  to  see  my  unfortunate  patient,  Mrs. 
Wildman  ?" 

"  I  have.    We  can  see  her,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  poor  thing  1  A  very  quiet 
case,  hers,  but  quite  endurable.  Most  oases  of 
melancholy  madness  are.  This  way,  if  you 
please." 


fling,  wb«n 
Lhe  Clifton- 
slight,  girl- 
lantle,  and 
at  in  a  re- 
nway  from 
I  BO  sliort  a 
I,  which  she 

ley  found  a 
taoie,  thnt 
e  and  trng- 


once,  for  tlie 
ar  away  ;  but 
I  am  goJDg 
v^ent,  where  I 
e  by  a  life  of 
all  to  suffer, 
y  for  you  al- 
ien  wronged, 

ViVIA. 

7,  Leicester 
in  a  felon's 
unto  death, 
in  their'own 
be  was  left 
vas  a  house 


oom,  in  the 
1,  within  a 
some  miles 
gentlemen, 
and  up  a 
sk  building, 
ome,  with  a 
dark,  grave 
loking  puny 
ery  shining 
r,  wearing  a 
profusion  of 
)al  entrance, 
n  the  steps 
pro.'ich,  and 
I  manner  of 

is  a  sight  f - 

ju  again.' 
tinseled  in- 
I  told  you 

!" 

/olonel  rais- 


tresume  you 
mtient,  Mrs. 


very  quiet 
ost  cases  of 
way,   if  you 


THE  HEIRES.S  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


109 


Lefttling  tltem  through  a  long  hall,  the  Doo* 
tor  ascended  a  itaircase,  entered  a  corridor, 
with  a  long  array  of  doors  on  either  hand,  fol- 
lowed by  bis  two  companions. 

"My  female  patients  are  all  on  this  side,"  be 
said,  unlocking  cue  of  the  doors,  and  again  lead- 
ing the  way  into  another,  wii  h  neat  little  elecp- 
ing-rooms  on  each  side,  and,  finally,  into  a 
large,  b)ng  apartment,  with  the  summer  sun- 
shine coming  pleasantly  through  two  high  win- 
dows, grated  without,  nlled  with  v/omcn  of  all 
ages.  Some  sat  peaceably  knitting  and  sewing  ; 
some  were  walking  up  and  down  ;  some  sat 
talking  to  themselves;  but  the  Colonel  was 
astonished  to  see  bow  comparatively  quiet  they 
all  were.  His  eye  wandered  round  in  search  of 
her  be  bad  come  to  see,  and  it  rested  and  linger- 
ed at  last  on  one  sitting  close  to  a  window,  who 
neither  moved  nor  looked  up  at  their  entrance, 
but  remained  gazing  vacantly  out,  and  slowly 
and  continually  wringing  her  bands.  A  pallid 
and  faded  creature,  with  dim,  fair  hair,  cut  short 
like  a  child's,  and  streaking  her  furrowed  fore- 
head ;  a  thin,  wan  face,  pitiable  in  its  quiet 
hopelessness,  the  light-blue  eyes  vacant  and 
dull,  and  the  poor  fingers  she  twisted  continu- 
ally, nothing  but  skin  and  bone.  Yet,  as  Col- 
onel Shirley  looked,  his  thoughts  went  back  to 
a  certain  stormy  night,  eighteen  years  before, 
where  a  pretty  fair-haired  woman  had  kissed 
and  cried  over  his  little  child  ;  and  bo  recogniz- 
ed this  faded  shadow  instantly.  The  Doctor 
went  over,  and  patted  her  lightly  on  the  shoul- 
der: 

"  Mrs.  Wildman,  my  dear,  look  round !  Here 
is  a  gentleman  come  to  sec  you." 

The  woman  turned  her  pale,  pinched  face,  and 
looked  up,  in  a  hopeless  sort  of  way,  in  the 
pitying  eyes  of  tlie  Indian  officer. 

*'  Have  you  brought  her  back  ?"  she  asked, 
moarnfuily.  "She  sent  her  away;  my  little 
Barbara ;  my  only  child  ;  my  only  child !" 

"She  keeps  that  up  contiuualy,"  said  the 
Doctor,  with  an  intelligent  nod  to  the  Colonel. 
"  Nobody  ever  can  get  anything  out  of  her  but 
that." 

"I  wish  you  would  bring  her  back  to  me  !" 
said  the  imbecile,  still  looking  in  the  same  hope- 
less way  at  her  visitor.  "  She  sent  her  away — 
my  little  Barbara— and  I  loved  her  so  much ! 
Do  go  and  bring  her  back !" 

The  Colonel  sat  down  beside  her  and  took 
one  of  the  wasted  bands  in  his,  with  a  look  that 
vas  infinitely  kind  and  gentle. 

'•  Who  was  it  sent  her  away — your  little  Bar- 
bara?" 

"  Slie  did  1  Tlie  one  she  kept  was  the  gen- 
tleman's chill,  and  it  was  always  crying  and 
troublesome,  and  not  kind  and  goo3  like  my 
little  Barbara,  I  wish  you  would  go  and  bring 
her  back.  It  is  bo  lonuson^e  here  without  her  ; 
•nd  she  was  my  only  child,  my  only  child  !" 

"I  told  you  80,"  Baid  the  Doctor,  with  aiio 


ther  nod.  "  Yoa  won't  get  her  beyond  that,  ii 
yoa  keep  at  Iicr  till  'doomsday  !" 

"  Whuro  did  she  send  her  to  ?''  asked  the  Col- 
onel; but  the  woman  only  looked  at  him  va- 
oautly. 

"She  sent  her  oway,"  she  repeated,  "and 
kept  the  gentleman's  oliiKl.— tho  tall  gentlemau 
that  was  so  handsome,  and  gave  mo  the  mouey. 
But  she  sent  away  my  little  Barbara  ;  my  only 
child,  my  only  child  i  Oh  1  won't  somebody  go 
and  bring  her  back  ?" 

The  Colonel  bent  over  her,  took  her  other 
hand,  and  looked  steadfastly  into  the  dull  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Wildraan,  do  you  not  know  me?  I 
am  the  gentlemau  who  left  the  child." 

She  looked  at  him  silently  ;  but  her  gaze  was 
listless  and  without  meaning. 

"  Your  little  Barbara  lias  grown  up— is  a 
young  lady,  beautiful  and  accomplished — do  yoa 
understand ':"' 

No  ;  she  did  not.  She  only  turned  away  her 
eyes,  with  a  little  weary  sigh,  very  sad  to  hear, 
and  murmured  over  again  : 

"  Oh !  I  wish  somebody  would  bring  her  back! 
She  was  my  only  child,  my  only  child  l" 

"  It's  all  no  use  l"  interposed  the  Doctor. 
"No  earthlj  power  will  ever  get  her  beyond 
tiiat.  Uurs  is  a  case  quilo  harmless  and  quite 
ho|)ele88. 

Colonel  Shirley  arose,  and  pressed  something 
he  took  out  of  his  waistcoat- pocket  into  the 
Doctor's  hand. 

"  Be  good  to  her  Doctor.    Poor  creature  I" 

"Thank  you.  Colonel,"  said  tho  Doctor, 
glancing  witii  infinite  com[>laccncyat  the  bank- 
note for  fifty  pounds.  "  She  shall'  have  the  beat 
of  core.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  over  the 
whole  establishment?" 

"Not  to-day,  I  think.  We  must  oat«h  the 
two  o'clock  train  back  to  London.'' 

The  Doctor  led  the  way  down-stairs,  and 
bowed  them  obsequiously  out. 

Only  one  sentence  was  spoken  as  they  drove 
rapidly  down  to  the  depot. 

"Poor  thing  1  she  is  greatly  changed,  but 
looks  like  Miss — Vivia,"  Mr.  Swett  bad  said, 
and  bad  received  a  IcoK  in  answer  Itiat  eiTectu- 
ally  silenced  him  for  the  rest  of  tlio  way. 

Next  day,  when  the  early  afternoon-train 
from  London  came  steaming  into  Cliftonlea, 
Colonel  Shirley  an  j  Mr.  Sweet  had  got  out  and 
walked  up  the  town.  Tho  latter  gentleman 
speedily  turned  off  in  the  direction  of  his  owii 
bouse,  and  tlie  Colonel  walked  with  a  grave  face 
up  High  street,  turning  neither  to  tiie  right  no? 
the  left,  until  bo  stood  knocking  at  tho  princi- 
pal  entrance  c*  tho  town-jail.  Th'i  turnkey 
who  opened  it  opened  his  eyes,  too  ;  for,  dor* 
ing  the  two  months  his  young  relative  bad  been 
a  lodger  there,  the  Colonel  bad  not  come  ooeo 
to  visit  him. 

All  Cliftonlea  was  in  a  state  of  fermcni ;  for 
the  tissizcs  were  on,  and  Tom  Shirley's  triaJ 


110 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


Would  begin  to  raurrow ;  aaci  setting  LU  visit 
dowa  to  tbis  cause,  tlie  taraiiey  miniitteJ  him. 

There  was  no  difficulty  ia  obtaiuiug  tbe  de- 
sired interview,  nnd  in  a  few  minutes  a  ponder- 
ous key  was  turning  in  n  ponderous  lock,  a 
strong  door  swung  open,  tbe  Colonel  was  in  tbe 
prison-celJ,  listening  to  tbe  re-locking  of  tbe 
door  witbout,  and  retreating  steps  of  tbe  jailor. 

The  cell  was  as  dismal  as  could  be  desired, 
and  as  empty  of  furniture,  bolJinff  but  a  bed, 
a  cbair,  and  a  table  ;  but  tbe  August  sunsbine 
came  just  as  brigbtly  tbrougb  tbe  little  grated 
square  of  ligbt  as  it  did  tbrougb  tbe  plate-glass 
ot  Castle  Cilffc,  and  lay  broaJ,  and  brigbt,  and 
warm  on  tbe  stone  floor. 

Tbe  prisoner  sat  beside  tbe  table,  reading  a 
littio  book  bound  in  gold  and  purple  velvet, 
tbat  looked  odd  enough  in  the  dreary  cell.  It 
was  a  gift,  prized  hitherto  for  tbe  sake  of  the 
giyer— a  little  French  Testament,  with  "To 
Cousin  Tom,  with  Vivia's  love",  written  in  a 
delicate  Italian  hand  on  tlie  fly-leaf;  but  of 
late  days  Tom  had  learned  to  prize  it  for  a  sake 
far  higher. 

He  rose  at  sight  of  his  visitor,  looking  very 
thin,  very  pale,  very  quiot,  and  both  stood 
gazing  at  each  other  for  a  few  seconds  iu  si- 
lence.. 

"  Is  it  really  Colonel  Shirley  f"  said  Tom,  at 
last,  with  just  a  shade  of  sarcasm  iu  bis  tone. 
"  Tbis  is  indeed  an  unexpected  honor." 

"  You  do  not  need  to  ask,  Tom,  why  I  have 

I  never  been  hero  before,"  said  tbe  Colonel, 
whose  face,  always  pale  laiel)',  had  grown  even 
a  shade  paler. 

"  Scarcely.  Do  me  the  honor  to  be  seated, 
and  let  me  Know  to  what  I  am  indebted  for  this 
visit." 

He  presented  his  chair  with  formal  polite- 
ness as  he  spoke  ;  but  bis  visitor  only  availed 
himself  of  it  to  lean  one  hand  lightly  on  its 
back  and  tbe  other  on  tbe  young  man's  should- 
er. 

"  Tom,"  be  said,  looking  earnestly  and  searcb- 
ingly  at  him,  "  I  have  come  here  to  ask  you  one 
question,  and  I  want  you  to  answer  it  truthfully 
before  GoJ  1    Are  you  innucent  ?" 

"  It  is  late  to  ask  that  question,"  said  Tom, 
disdainfully. 

"  Answer  it,  Tom  I" 

"  Excuse  me,  Sir.  The  very  question  is  an 
insult." 

'*  Tom,  for  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  stand  bal- 
ancing hairs  with  me  1  You  always  were  tbe 
aoul  of  honor  and  straightforwardness,  and,  late 
M  it  is,  if  you  will  only  tell  me,  in  the  face 
of  Heaven,  you  are  inuoeent,  I  will  believe 
you !" 

'i'om's  honest  black  eyes,  tbat  never  quailed 
before  mortal  man,  rose  boldly  and  truthfully 
to  the  8^>caker's  faoe. 

*«  Before  Heaven,"  be  said,  solemnly  raising 
bia  arm  and  dropping  it  on  tbe  puffk  '«  uk, 


"  as  I  shall  have  to  answer  to  God,  I  am  iniM^ 
cent !" 

"  Enough  I"  said  tbe  Colonel,  taking  his  band 
in  a  firm  grasp.  *'  I  believe  you,  with  all  nij 
heart  t  My  dear  boy,  forgive  me  for  ever  think 
ing  you  guilty  for  a  moment." 

"Don't  ask  it  1  How  cuuld  you  help  think 
ing  me  guilty,  in  the  face  of  all  tb<8  oiroum* 
stantial  evidence  ?  But  sit  down,  and  let  me 
look  at  you  It  is  a  good  to  see  a  friend's  face 
again.  You  have  been  getting  thin  and  pale, 
Colonel." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  return  the  eomplimenL 
I  see  only  the  shadow  of  tbe  ruddy,  boisterous 
Tom  Shirley  of  old." 

Tom  smiled,  and  pushed  book  in  a  careless 
way  bis  exuberant  black  curls. 

"Nothing|  very  odd  in  tbat.  Sir.  Solitude 
and  prison-tare  are  not  tbe  best  things  I  ever 
heard  of  for  putting  a  man  iu  good  coudi- 
tion.    How  goes  tbe  world  outside  i" 

"Much  as  usual.  Have  you  no  visitors, 
then  -r 

'*  None  to  speak  of.  A  few  mere  acquaint- 
ances came  out  of  cui-iosity,  but  I  declined  to 
see  tbem  ;  and  as  my  friends" — said  Tom,  with 
another  smile  tbat  had  very  much  of  sadness  in 
it — "  thought  me  guilty,  ond  held  aloof,  I  have 
been  left  pretty  much  to  my  own  devices." 

''  Yoiw  triui  comes  on  to-morrow?" 

"It  does." 

"  You  have  engaged  counsel,  of  course  f " 

"  Yes ;  one  of  the  best  advocates  in  England. 
But  his  anticipations,  I  am  afraid,  are  not  over 
brilliant." 

"Tbe  evidence  is  very  strong,  certainly,  al- 
though merely  circumstantial,  but — " 

"  But  better  men  than  I  have  been  condemn- 
ed on  circumstantial  evidence.  I  know  it,"  said 
Tom,  very  quietly. 

"  What  do  you  anticipate  yourself?'' 

"Unless  Providence  should  interpose  and 
send  tbe  real  murderer  forward  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  I  anticipate  a  very  speedy  termina* 
tion  of  my  mortal  cares." 

"  And  you  can  spfeak  of  it  like  this  I  You 
are  indeed  chonged,  Tom." 

"  Colonel,"  said  Tom,  gravely,  "  wh«n  a  man 
sits  within  four  stone  walls  like  tbis  for  two 
months,  with  a  prospect  of  death  before  bim, 
he  must  be  something  more  than  human  not  to 
change.  I  have  had  at  least  one  constant  vis- 
itor, his  lordship  the  Bishop ;  and  though  I 
am  perfectly  certain  he  believes  me  guilty,  be 
has  done  me  good ;  and  this  small  book  has 
helped  the  work.  Had  I  anything  to  bind  mo 
very  strongly  to  life,  it  would  be  different ;  but 
there  is  nothing  much  in  the  outer  world  I  care 
for ;  and  so,  let  the  result  be  what  it  may,  I 
think  I  shall  meet  it  quietly.  If  one  bad  « 
choice  in  so  delieate  a  matter"--witu  onotbw 
smile— "I  might,  perhaps,  prefer  a  dilferenl 
mode  of  leaving  this  world  ;  but  what  con't  be 


«j 


d,  I  am  iittM>> 

iking  his  hand 

I,  with  all  tuy 
for  ever  tbink 

>u  belp  think 
11  this  oircutU' 
1,  and  let  me 
a  friend's  faoe 
/bin  and  pale, 

i  oompliment. 
Idy,  boiBteroos 

In  a  carelesa 

Sir.    Solitude 
thiugs  I  ever 
t  good  CQudi- 
ier 

I  uo   visitors, 

aere  acquaint* 

I I  declined  to 
jaid  Tom,  vriib 
:h  of  Badness  in 
d  aloof,  I  have 
1  devices." 
ow?" 

)f  course  f " 
ttei  in  England, 
d,  are  not  over 

;,  certainly,  al< 
•ut— " 

been  condemn- 
I  know  it,"  aaid 

irself?" 
interpose  and 
to  make  a  clean 
peedy  termina* 

ikti  this !    You 

',  "  when  a  man 
\c  this  fur  two 
ith  b'^fore  bim, 
u  human  not  to 
le  constant  vis- 
;  and  though  I 
i  me  guilty,  be 
imall  book  has 
ing  to  bind  mo 
3  different ;  but 
iter  wrorid  I  caro 
what  it  may,  I 
If  one  had  • 
'—with  anoth«i 
efor  a  different 
Lt  what  can  t  b6 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


Ill 


ourvd-yoa  know  the  prorerb.    Don't  let  us 
talk  of  It    How  is  Lady  Agnes  V* 

"Well  in  body,  but  ill  in  mind.  She  is  shut 
ap  in  her  room,  and  I  never  see  her." 

'•And  Margaret?" 

"Margaret  followed  her  example.  Sir  Ro* 
land  is  laid  up  again  with  th^  gout  at  Clifton* 
wood." 

'*  Castle  Cliffe  must  be  a  dreary  place.  I  won- 
der you  can  stay  there." 

"  I  shall  be  there  but  a  short  time  now.  My 
old  regiment  is  doing  some  hard  fighting  bef  ire 
Sebastopol ;  and  as  soon  as  your  trial  is  over,  I 
jball  rejoin  them." 

Tom's  eyes  lighted,  his  face  flashed  hotly, 
and  then  turned  to  its  former  pale  and  siukly 
color. 

*'  Oh  that  I—"  ho  began,  and  then  stopped 
short ;  but  be  was  understood- 

'♦  I  wish  to  Heaven  it  were  possible,  Tom  ;  but 
whatever  happens,  we  must  content  ourselves 
with  the  cry  of  the  strong  old  crusaders, '  Gud 
wills  it !'  You  must  learn,  as  we  all  have  to, 
the  great  lesson  of  life — endurance. ' 

Poor  Tom  had  begun  the  lesson,  but  his  face 
showed  that  ho  found  the  rudiments  very  bit- 
ter. 

The  Colonel  paused  for  a  moment ;  and  then, 
looking  at  the  noor,  went  on,  in  a  more  subdued 
tone : 

"  Somebody  else  is  learning  it,  too,  in  the 
solitude  of  a  Trench  convent — Vivia." 

Tom  gave  a  little  start  at  the  unexpected 
sound  of  that  name,  and  the  flush  came  bacV. 
to  his  faoe. 

"  You  have  heard  from  her,  then'" 

"I  have  Jf'ne  better — I  have  seen  her  A 
•hadow,  a  spiil,  came  behind    the    convent 

frate  and  shook  hands  with  me  tlirough  it. 
he  was  so  wan  and  wasted  with  fasting  and 
▼igils,  I  suppose,  that  I  scarcely  knew  her ;  and 
we  talked  for  fifteen  minutes  with  the  grate  be- 
tween us.     Satisfactory — was  it  not?" 

"  Very.    Has  she  taken  the  vail?" 

"Not  yet.  No  thanks  to  her,  though.  It 
was  her  wish  ;  but  the  superior,  knowing  it  was 
merely  the  natural  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  that 
she  had  no  real  vocation,  would  not  permit  it. 
Then  Vivia  wished  to  go  out  as  a  governess  — 
think  of  that !— but  Mot!  er  Uursula  would  not 
bear  of  that,  either.  She  is  to  make  the  con- 
vent her  home  for  a  year,  and  if,  at  the  end  oi 
that  time,  she  still  desires  it,  she  will  be  permit- 
ted to  enter  upon  her  novitate.  I  will  go  by 
Paris,  and  see  her  again  before  I  depart  for  the 
Crimea." 

*»  Does  she  know—" 

Tom  paused. 

"She  knowB  all.  She  gave  me  this  for 
yuu." 

The  Colonel  produced  his  pooket-book,  and 
took  from  between  tixit  leaves  a  little  twi^tod 

lOtCii 


Tom  opened  it,  and  read : 

"Mt  Bkothrr:— I  know  you  are  ianooeDt.  1  Icve 
yon,  and  pray  for  you  every  oight  and  day.  God  keep 
you  always !  Fitia." 

That  was  all. 

Tom  dropped  his  faoe  on  the  table  without  a 
word. 

Colonel  Ohirley  looked  at  him  an  instant,  then 
arose. 

"  i  shall  Icavo  you  now.  Remember,  I  bnvo 
firm  faith  in  your  iuuocence  from  henceforth. 
Keep  up  a  good  heart,  and,  until  to-morrow, 
farewell." 

He  pressed  his  hand. 

But  Tom  neither  spoke  nor  looked  up  ;  and 
the  Colonel  went  out  and  left  him,  with  his  head 
lying  on  the  wooden  table,  and  the  tiny  note  still 
crushed  iu  his  hand. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

At  day-dawn  next  morning  Cliftonlea  was  all 
bustle  and  stir ;  and  at  ten  o'clock  the  court- 
house was  a  perfect  jam.  There  were  troops  of 
people  down  from  London,  who  all  knew  the 
Bhirleys;  swarms  of  newspaper-reporters,  note- 
book and  pencil  in  hand,  not  to  speak  of  hulf 
the  county  besides.  The  gallery  was  filled  with 
ladies,  and  among  them  glided  in  one  in  a  long 
shrouding  mantle,  and  wearing  a  thick  vail ;  but 
people  knew  the  white  face  of  Margaret  Shirley, 
despite  any  disguise.  The  Colonol  was  tiiere, 
and  eo  was  Sir  Roland,  vialffrc  his  gout ;  and  so 
was  Joe,  the  gamekeeper's  son,  lo«liing  scared 
beyond  everything,  and  full  of  the  vague  no- 
tion that  he  stood  iu  as  much  danger  of  hang* 
ing,  himself,  as  the  prisoner.  The  prisoner  did 
not  look  at  all  scared  ;  he  sat  in  the  duck  as  he 
had  sat  in  his  cell  the  day  before,  pale,  quiet, 
and  perfectly  calm,  scanning  the  crowd  with  hi* 
dauntless  black  eyes,  and  meeiiug  the  gaze  of 
all  known  and  unknown  with  the  stoicism  of  an 
Indian  at  the  stake.  Some  of  the  reporters  be* 
gan  sketching  his  face  in  their  note-books. 
Tom  saw  it,  and  smiled  ;  and  the  crowd  set  hiuk 
down  as  a  cool  hand,  and  a  guilty  one.  Very 
few  present  had  any  doubt  of  his  guilt,  the 
facts  that  had  come  out  of  the  inq-iest  were 
strong  against  him  ,*  and  there  was  nobody  else, 
apparently,  in  the  world  who  had  the  least  in* 
terest  in  the  death  of  the  murdered  man.  All 
knew  by  that  time  how  everything  stood — how 
infatuated  he  had  been  with  the  young  lady,  and 
how  madly  jealous  he  was  of  the  accepted  lover. 
And  everybody  knew,  too,  what  jealousy  will 
make,  end  has  made,  the  best  of  men  do, 
from  King  David  down  ;  and  Tom's  hasty  and 
violent  temper  was  notorious.  Worst  of  all,  he 
refused  to  give  any  account  of  himself  what- 
ever ;  for  the  simple  fact  that  he  had  no  account 
to  give  that  would  not  involve  Vivia's  name ; 
ana  the  torturea  of  a  martyr  would  not  have 
drawn  that  from  him  in  a  crowded  court-room. 
^I^t  the  soeoQ  in  the  starlight  under  the  obest* 


112 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


nuts,  he  bad  fled  from  the  place,  and  haunted 
Clittonleu  like  a  loat  spirit.  On  the  bridal- 
iiigbt,  an  insane  impulse  drew  biui  back  again 
witli  a  relentless  band,  and  be  bud  waudered  tip 
and  down  amung  tlie  trees  almost  beside  him- 
self, but  wholly  unable  to  go  away. 

Tom  could  Lot  very  well  bave  told  his  pitia- 
ble tule  of  love-sicknesa  and  insanity  to  a  grim 
judge  nrul  jury  ;  so  be  just  held  bis  tongue,  re- 
solved to  let  things  take  their  oouree,  almost  in- 
different to  the  issue. 

Things  did  take  their  course.  Tbey  always 
do,  where  those  two  inexoral)ie  fates.  Time  and 
Law,  are  in  question.  The  case  was  opened 
in  a  brilliant  speech  by  the  counsel  for  the 
croyrn,  cnat  told  bard  on  the  prisoner,  and  then 
the  witnesses  were  culled.  Joe  came  in  requisi- 
tion, and  so  did  Mr.  Swe^^t's  Elizabeth ;  and  it 
would  be  hard  to  say  which  of  tlie  two  was  the 
most  terrified,  or  which  cried  tlie  most  before 
they  were  sent  down.  Mr.  Sweet  bad  to  give 
evidence,  so  had  Colonel  Shirley,  so  had  Sir  Ro- 
land, so  bad  the  Doctor,  so  had  the  gamekeep- 
er, so  had  a  number  of  otiier  people,  whom  one 
would  think  bad  nothing  to  do  with  it.  And  at 
three  o'clock  the  court  adjourned,  leaving  things 
pretty  much  as  they  were  before,  the  prisoner 
was  remanded  back  to  his  cell ;  the  mob  went 
home  to  their  dinners,  and  to  assert  confidently, 
that  before  long  there  would  be  an  execution  in 
Cliftonlea. 

The  trial  lasted  three  days ;  and  with  each 
passing  one  the  interest  grew  deeper,  and  the 
case  more  and  more  hopeless.  Every  day  the 
crowd  in  nnd  around  the  court-house  grew  more 
dense ;  and  always  the  first  on  tlie  ground  was 
the  shrinking  fii^ure  of  the  vailed  lady.  But 
on  the  third,  just  as  the  case  was  drawing  to  a 
final  close,  something  happened  that  settled  the 
last  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  jury,  if  such  a 
thing  as  a  doubt  had  ever  rested  there.  A 
woman  bad  made  her  way  through  the  crowd  by 
dint  of  sharp  elbows  and  sharper  tongue,  and 
had  taken  her  place  on  the  witness-stand,  in  a 
very  determined  and  etcited  state  of  mind. 
The  woman  was  Joannette,  who  had  followed 
her  young  lady  to  France,  and  had  evidently 
just  come  back  from  that  delightful  land ;  and 
CO  informing  them  she  bad  taken  a  long  jour- 
ney to  give  important  evidence,  she  was  sworn, 
and  asked  what  she  had  to  say. 

Jeannette  bad  a  good  deal  to  say,  chiefly  in 
parenthesis,  with  a  strong  French  accent,  a 
great  many  Mon  Dieuc,  and  no  punctuation 
marks  to  speak  of.  It  appeared,  however,  when 
the  evidence  was  shorn  of  all  French  embellish- 
ment, that  on  the  night  the  deceased  had  re- 
turned from  London  (a  couple  of  days  before 
the  one  fixed  for  the  wedding).  Miss  Yivia  had 
been  wandering  alone  in  the  Park,  where  she 
was  suddenly  joined  bv  the  prisoner.  She, 
Jeannette,  had  followed  her  young  lady  out  t» 
warn  her   against  night-dews,  when,  hearing  a 


loud  and  angry  voice,  she  baited,  disoreetly,  at 
a  distance,  witb  the  true  instinct  of  iier  class,  to 
listen.  There  she  bad  overheard  the  prisoner 
making  very  loud  and  honest  protestations  of 
love  to  Miss  Shirley  ;  and  when  rejected,  and 
assured  by  her  she  would  marry  none  but  Mr. 
Cliffe,  he  had  flown  out  in  such  a  way,  that 
she,  Jeanette,  was  scared  pretty  nearly  into 
fits,  and  she  was  perfectly  sure  she  had  beard 
him  threaten  to  murder  the  bridegroom-elect. 
Mademoiselle  Jeanette  further  informed  her 
audience  that,  believing  the  prisoner  guilty,  her 
conscience  would  not  let  her  l<eep  the  matter 
trecret,  and  it  had  sent  her  across  the  Channel, 
in  spite  of  sea-sickness,  unknown  to  her  }oung 
lady,  to  unburden  her  mind.  It  was  hard  evi- 
dence against  the  prisoner ;  and  though  Made- 
moiselle underwent  a  galling  cross-examina- 
tion, her  testimony  could  not  be  shaken,  though 
it  left  her,  as  it  well  might,  in  a  very  wild  and 
hysterical  state  of  mind,  at  its  close.  Colonel 
Shirley,  standing  near  Tom,  stooped  down  in 
dismay,  and  whispered : 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  all  this  ?" 
"  Nothing  ;  it  is  perfectly  true." 
"  Then  your  case  is  hopelesti." 
"It  has  been  hopeless  all  along!"  said  Tom, 
quietly,    as  Mademoiselle  Jeannette   descended, 
quite  out  of  herself  with  the  cross-examination 
she  bad  undergone. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  The 
evidence  was  summed  up  in  one  mighty  mass 
against  the  prisoner,  and  the  jury  retired  to  find 
a  verdict.  It  was  not  hard  to  find.  In  five 
minutes  they  v/ere  back,  and  the  swaying  and 
murmuring  of  the  crowd  subsided  into  an  aw- 
ful hush  of  expectation  as  the  foreman  arose. 

"  Gentlemen  of  tlie  jury,  is  the  prisoner  ai 
the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  of  the  felony  witb 
which  he  is  charged  ?" 

And  solemnly  the  answer  oame,  what  every* 
body  knew  it  would  be : 
"Guilty!  my  lord." 

The  judge  arose  witb  his  black  cap  on  his 
head,  iiis  address  to  the  prisoner  wa.'  eloquent 
and  touching,  and  the  crowd  seemed  to  hush 
their  very  bean-beating  to  listen.  There  were 
tears  in  his  eyes  before  he  had  done  ;  and  hia 
voice  was  tremulous  as  he  wound  up  with  the 
usual  ghastly  formula. 

"  Your  sentence  is,  that  you  be  taken  hence 
to  the  place  from  whence  you  came,  from  thence 
to  the  place  of  execution,  to  be  liung  by  the 
neck  till  dead,  and  may  God  have  mercy  on 
your  soul !'' 

He  sat  down,  but  the  same  dead  silence 
reigned  still.  It  was  broken  at  last  by  a  sound 
Common  enough  at  such  times — a  vailed  lady 
in  the  gallery  had  fallen  forward  in  a  deac 
swoon.  — — 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THR  TURN  OF  THE  WHEEL. 

It  was  a  wild  night  on  the  Sussex  coast.    A 


lisereetly,  at 
'  iier  cIms,  to 
the  prisoner 
>te8tation8  of 
rejected,  and 
none  but  Mr. 
a  way,  that 
nearly  into 
le  had  heard 
egroom-elect. 
u formed    her 
er  guilty,  her 
p  the  matter 
the  Channel, 
to  her  }oung 
was  hard  evi- 
huugh  Made- 
roBS-examina- 
laken,  though 
very  wild  and 
lose.     Colonel 
Dped  down  in 

all  this  ?" 


j!"  said  Tom, 
te  descended, 
i8-ex»mination 

)e  done.  The 
mighty  mass 
retired  to  find 
find.  In  five 
i  swaying  and 
d  into  an  aw- 
eman  arose, 
le  prisoner  al 
16  felony  with 

e,  what  every. 


{  cap  on  his 

war  eloquent 

imed    to  liush 

There  were 

done  ;  and  his 

up  with  the 

e  taken  henoe 

e,  from  thence 

liung  by  the 

ive  mercy  on 

dead  silence 
let  by  a  sounJ 
-a  vailed  lad^ 
rd  in   a  deac 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


118 


ssex  coast. 


A 


north  wind  roared  over  the  Channel— a  ten  «le 
north  wind,  that  bUrieked  and  raved,  and  iasVied 
the  waves  into  white  fury  ;  that  tore  up  trees 
by  the  ruuts,  blewotf  tall  steeples,  and  tilled  the 
uir  witli  a  sharp  shower  of  tiles  and  chimney- 
pots, and  demolishing  frailer  buildings  allogeth- 
or.  A  terrible  night  down  there  on  the  coast — 
a  terrible  night  fur  the  ohips  at  sea — a  night  that 
had  ever^'thiug  its  own  way,  and  defied  t\ie 
hardiest  of  wayfarers  to  venture  out.  Greut 
slieets  of  lurid  lightning  flashed  incessantly  ; 
great  shucks  cf  thunder  pealed  overhead,  shuk< 
iug  sky,  and  earth,  and  sea,  to  their  very  fouii' 
daiions.  A  terrible  night  in  Cliftonlea — the 
oldest  inhabitant  had  never  remermbered  any< 
thing  like  it.  Very  few  thought  of  going  to  bed 
— a  gentleman  had  come  preaching  there  sho>-tly 
before,  with  the  important  information  that  th« 
end  of  the  world  was  at  hand  ;  and  all  Clifton 
lea,  particularly  the  fairer  portion,  believing  that 
it  had  come  on  this  particular  ni^ut,  resolved  to 
appear  with  their  clothes  on.  A  terrible  night 
in  Lower  Cliflfe,  where  nobody  thought  of  going 
to  bed  at  all ;  for  the  dreadful  roaring  of  the 
storm  and  the  cannonading  of  the  rising  sea  on 
the  shore,  seemed  to  threaten  entire  destruction 
to  the  little  village  before  morning.  A  terrible 
night  within  the  park,  where  tail  trees  of  a  cen- 
tury's growth  were  torn  up  and  flung  aside  like 
straws ;  where  the  rooks  were  cawing  and 
screeching  in  their  nests  ;  where  the  peacocks 
wore  hidden  away  in  their  houses,  the  swans  in 
their  sheds,  and  the  roses  in  the  parterres  were 
stripped  and  beaten  to  the  dust.  A  terrible 
night,  even  within  the  strong  walls  of  the  old 
oiatle,  where  the  great  kitchen,  and  the  servants' 
..all,  and  butler's  pantry,  and  the  housekeeper's 
room,  were  filled  with  terrified  footmen  and 
housemaids ;  where  Lady  Agnes  shivered  as  she 
listened  to  it  in  the  ghostly  solitude  of  her  own 
room  ;  where  Margaret  woke  up,  cowering  and 
shuddering  from  the  stupor  in  which  she  lay, 
and  covered  her  eyes  from  the  lightning,  and 
wondered  how  he  bore  it  in  his  prison-cell.  He, 
sitting  reading  by  the  light  of  a  flaring  talluw 
candle,  in  a  little  gold  and  purple  book,  lifteil 
his  pale  and  quiet  face,  and  listened  to  it  much 
more  calmly  than  any  of  them.  Much  more 
calmly  than  Colonel  Shirley,  pacing  up  and 
down  in  his  own  room,  as  the  midnight  hour 
was  striking,  liki^  an  uneasy  ghost.  It  was  a 
splendid  ruom — splendid  in  green  velvet  and 
malachite,  with  walnut  paneling  and  waius- 
cotting,  the  furniture  of  massive  mahogany,  up- 
holstered in  green  billiard-cloth,  and  the  bed- 
Uungings  of  green  velvet  and  white  satin.  The 
came  sober  tints  of  green  and  brown  were  re- 
peated in  the  medallion  carpet ;  a  buhl  clock 
ticked  on  the  carved  walnut  mantel,  and  over  it 
a  bright  portrait  of  Vivia  looked  down  and 
smiled,  "rhere  was  a  small  armory  on  one  side, 
lull  of  Damascus  swords,  daggers,  and  poinards, 
pistols  and  muskets,  eel-spears,  bows  and  ar- 


rows, and  riding-whif.g,  all  flashing  in  the  light 
of  u  bright,  Wood  tire  burning  on  the  maihie 
heartli  ;  for  though  tlie  month  was  Aujcust,  thvse 
grand,  v^ist  old  rooms  were  always  chilly,  and 
on  this  tempestuous  night  particularly  eo.  A 
round  table,  on  which  burned  two  wax  candles, 
was  drawn  up  before  the  tire,  and  covered  over 
with  ledgers,  check-books,  and  pockages  of 
fresher-looking  documents  tied  up  with  r«d  tape. 
A  green  cushioned  arm-chair  stood  on  either 
side  of  the  table  ;  and  though  they  were  empty 
now,  they  had  not  been  a  couple  of  hours  pre- 
viously. In  the  first  train  to-morrow  morning, 
(Jolo.'iel  Shirley  was  laiiving  Cliftonleo,  perhap* 
forever,  and  going  where  glory  led  him,  and  so 
on  ,-  and  he  and  Mr.  Sweet  bad  had  a  very  busy 
afternoon  and  evening  in  settling  the  compli- 
cated accounts  of  the  estate.  They  had  finished 
about  ten  ;  and  Mr.  Sweet  had  gone  home,  de- 
spite the  rising  storm  which  was  now  it  ita 
height ;  and  ever  since,  the  Colonel  had  been 
walking  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  anxiously 
impatient  for  the  morning  that  was  to  see  him 
off.  It  was  the  evening  that  had  couclnled 
Tom  Shirley's  trial ;  and  he,  too,  like  Margaret, 
was  thinking  of  him  in  his  lonely  cell;  and 
though  the  lightning  came  blazing  through  the 
shuttered  and  curtained  windows,  and  the  roar 
of  the  storm,  the  sea,  and  the  wind,  boomed  an 
awful  harmony  around  them,  he  scarcely  heeded 
either ;  and  as  the  buhl  clock  vibrated  on  the 
last  silvery  stroke  of  twelve,  there  was  a  Up  at 
the  door,  and  (hen  the  handle  was  turned,  and 
the  respectful  face  ot  Mr.  Hurst  looked  in. 

*'  There's  a  man  down  below,  Sir,  that  has 
just  arrived,  and  he  insists  on  seeing  you.  It  is 
a  matter  of  life  or  death,  he  says." 

The  Colonel  stopped,  astonished,  in  his  walk. 

»'  Some  one  to  see  me  on  such  a  night !  Who 
is  he?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Sir.  He  looks  like  a  sailor,  in 
a  pea-jacket  and  a  sou-wester  hat ;  but  the  col- 
lar of  the  jacket  is  turned  up,  and  the  hat  is 
pulled  down,  and  there's  no  seeing  anything  of 
him  but  his  nose." 

"  A..d  he  said  it  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death. 
It  ought  to  he,  certainly,  to  bring  him  out  in  a 
uight  like  this." 

"  Yefj,  Sir.  He  said  he  would  see  you,  if  he 
had  to  search  the  house  over  for  you  !  He's  a 
precious  rougli-looking  customer.  Sir !" 

"  Show  him  up !"  was  the  curt  reply.  And 
Mr.  Hurst  bowed  and  withdrew. 

He  was  leaning  against  the  carved  mantel,  one 
elbow  resting  upon  it,  and  his  eyes  fixed  thought- 
fully on  the  tire,  when  his  visitor  entered— a 
somewhat  stout  and  not  very  tall  man,  in  a  large, 
rough  jacket,  a  shining  hat,  and  splash  top-boots. 
There  was  more  of  the  man  splashed  than  bis 
boots,  for  he  was  dripping  all  over  like  a  water- 
god  ;  and,  as  Mr.  Hurst  had  intimated,  his  coat- 
collar  was  turned  up,  and  hid  hat  pulled  dowu 
so  that,  besi<^08  the  nose,  nothing  was  visibiu 


114 


UNMASKED;  OR. 


'T**^ 


but  a  pair  of  fioree  eyei.  Tbi>  nooturnal  intru> 
der  touk  llie  precuiitiua  to  turn  the  key  ia  tbe 
luok  as  aoou  aa  tlio  vnlet  diannpearod,  and  then 
•auiu  siu  wly  forward  uiid  atuud  iMifuro  the  Colonel. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  eaid  that  gcutleman, 
•aietly,  "you  wanted  to  see  mo?" 

"  Ye«,  I  did  I" 

**  On  a  maltcr  of  importanoe,  my  BervanteaiJ. 

*'  If  it  wuru't  important,"  eaid  the  man, 
gruffly,  "  it  ain't  very  likely  I'd  oomo  here  to 
tell  it  to  you  on  a  night  that  ain't  fit  fur  a  mad 
dog  to  be  out.  It's  something  you'd  give  half 
your  estates  to  learn,  Colonel  Shirley,  or  I'm 
misiaken  1" 

"  Out  with  it,  then ;  and,  in  the  meantime, 
•uppose  you  sit  down." 

Ills  visitor  drew  up  one  of  the  green  arm- 
chairs «loser  to  the  hearth,  and  subsiding  into 
it,  without,  however,  removing  his  bat,  spread 
out  hia  splashed  top-boots  to  the  genial  influ- 
enoe  of  the  hot  wood-fire.  There  was  some- 
thing familiar  about  tbe  man,  in  bis  burlcy 
figure,  rough  voice,  and  fierce  eyes;  but  tiio 
Colonel  cuuld  nut  remember  where  he  bad  seen 
and  heard  those  items  before  ;  and  a  long  silence 
followed,  during  which  tbe  man  in  the  top-bouts 
looked  at  the  fire,  tbe  Colonel  lool^ed  at  him, 
tbe  lightning  flashed,  the  wind  shrieked,  and  the 
portrait  of  Vivia  smi!ed  down  on  all.    At  Inst : 

^' If  you  merely  wish  to  warm  yourself,  my 
firjiead,"  said  tbe  Colonel,  with  composure,  "  I 

Smume  there  is  a  fire  in  tbe  servant's  bull ! 
Jlo«v  me  to  inform  you  that  it  is  past  twelve, 
and  I  have  a  long  journey  to  commence  to- 
morrow morning  1" 

"  You'll  commence  no  journey  to-morrow 
morning,"  the  muu  in  tbe  pea-jiicket  coolly  said. 

"  Indeed  I  Suppose,  for  politeness'  sake,  you 
remove  that  hat,  and  let  me  see  the  gentleman 
who  makes  so  extraordinary  an  assertion  1" 

*'  Just  you  bold  on  a  mmut-,  and  you'll  s^o 
me  soon  enough !  As  I  suid,  it's  a  matter  of 
life  or  death  brings  me  hero;  and  you'll  bear 
it  all  in  time,  and  you  won't  take  any  journey 
to-morrow  I  I've  b»"^a  fool  enough  in  my  time, 
Lord  knows  I  but  I  ain't  such  a  iool  as  to  come 
out  on  such  a  night,  and  get  half  drowned  for 
nothing  1" 

"  Very  good  1    I  am  waiting  for  you  to  go  on  I" 

"There  was  a  murder  committed  here  a 
eouple  of  months  ago,"  said  tbe  mysterious  per- 
son in  the  pea-jacket,  "  wasn't  there  ?" 

"  Ycst"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  sfigbt  recoil, 
as  he  thought  that  perhaps  tbe  real  murderer 
■at  before  him. 

"  The  young  gentleman  as  was  murdered  was 
Ifr.  Leioester  Ciiffe  ;  and  another  young  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Tom  Shirlev,  has  been  tried  and  con- 
demned for  the  murder  ¥" 

"  Yea !" 

**  Well,"  said  the  man  in  the  pea-jacket,  atill 
unite  ooolly,  **  he  is  innocent  1" 

'•I  know  it!" 


"Do  yon  I  Perhaps  you  know,  too,  wliu's 
the  cuiLy  party  ?" 

"No.    Do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  dol"  said  tbe  man;  '*«ud  that** 
what  brings  me  hero  to-night  1" 

Again  ihero  was  a  pause.  The  Colonel's  lip* 
had  turned  white,  but  nothing  could  shake  his 
stoical  Composure.  The  man  in  the  sailor's 
dress  had  bis  hands  on  his  knees,  and  was  lean- 
ing forward,  looking  up  at  him. 

"And  w'l'-  ''first,  my  mynterions  friend, 
bf  foce  an  questions  ere  asked  or  answer- 

ed, I  must.   jBist  on  your  removing  that  hat,  and 
showing  mo  who  you  are." 

"  All  right  I  It's  only  a  hanging  matter,  any- 
way I    Look  here  1" 

Uis  visitor  rose  up,  turned  down  the  collar  of 
the  pea-jacket,  lifted  off  tlie  dripping  sou'wester, 
and  glared  up  at  him  in  the  firelight  with  a  pair 
of  exceedingly  greon  and  wolfish  eyes. 

*'  Ah  1"  said  the  Colonel,  slowly,  *'  I  thought 
it  was  you  ;  and  you  have  come  back,  then  f " 

"  I  have  come  back  1"  said  bis  visitor,  with  a 
savage  gleam  in  bis  wolfish  eyes.  "  I  have 
conu!  back  to  be  hung,  very  likely  ;  but  by  — — 
I'll  hang  over  and  over  again  a  thousand  times, 
fur  tiie  pleasure  of  seeing  him  hang  beside  me 
oncel  bunted  down  I  hunted  down  1  He's  been 
at  it  for  the  last  six  years,  until  he's  got  me  to 
the  end  of  tiie  rope  at  last!  My  dog's  life 
hasn't  been  such  a  comfort  to  uue.  Lord  Knows! 
that  I  should  care  to  lose  it ;  but  when  I  do 
hang,  bo'U  hang  beside  me,  by !" 

"ilave  the  goodness  to  calm  yourself,  Mr. 
Black,  and  become  intelligible!  Whom  are 
you  talking  about  ?" 

"My  name  ain't  Black,  and  you  know  it! 
My  name  ii  Wildmau — Jack  Wildman,  as  was 
transported  for  life  ;  nnd  I  don't  care  if  tbe  devil 
beard  it!  Whom  am  I  talking  about?  I'm 
tullung  about  a  man  as  I  liatoi  as  I've  hated  for 
years ;  and  if  I  bad  him  here,  I  would  tear  the 
eyes  out  of  his  head,  and  the  black  heart  out  of 
his  body,  and  dash  his  brains  out  against  this 
here  wall !    I  would  by 1" 

The  man's  oaths  were  appalling.  The  Colo- 
nel shuddered  slightly  with  disgust  and  repul- 
sion as  ho  heard  him,  and  his  face  was  like  that 
of  a  human  demon. 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  point,  Mr.  Black,  or 
Mr.  Wildman,  whichever  you  choose?  Yousay 
you  know  the  real  murderer  of  Leioester  Clill'e 
— who  is  he  ?" 

"  Him  as  I  am  talking  of— a  yellow  devil  witli 
a  black  heart,  and  his  name  is  Sweet !" 

Colonel  Shirley  started  up,  and  grasped  tbe 
mantel  against  whioli  be  leaned. 

"  Man,"  he  cried, "  what  have  yuu  said  ?" 

"I  have  said  tlie  truth,  and  I  can  prove  it! 
That  yellow  dog,  that  I  would  strangle  if  I  had 
him  near  me,  that  Lawyer  Sweet— he  killed  the 
young  gentleman;  I  saw  him  with  my  own 
«yes !" 


along 
and  \ 
back^ 
and  I 
and  w 
know 
tion 
ran  a 
per  wj 
onto  ( 
oiflik 

ftv«et 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


115 


too,  wWi 


loloueV*  lipt 

Id  shake  bis 

the  tailor's 

,nd  was  l««n- 

iriooa  friend, 
ail  or  ftuawer- 
;  that  hat,  sad 

g  matter,  aoy- 

u  the  collar  of 
Dggou'weater, 
;Utvlthapair 

eyes. 

,   4. 1  thought 

;aok,th«Dt" 
visitor,  with  a 
^es.    "  I  have 

J ;  but  by 

bouaand  times, 
aug  beside  me 
nl  Hes  been 
lie's  got  me  to 

My  doc's  life 
e,  Lord  knows! 

but  when  1  do 
I" 


yourself,  Mr. 
J I     Whom  are 

you  know  it  I 

ildman,  as  was 

care  if  the  devil 

:   about?    I'm 

'  I've  hated  for 

would  tear  the 

aok  heart  out  of 

out  against  tl>ia 

iug.  The  Colo- 
[gust  and  rcpul- 
loe  was  like  tliat 

L  Mr.  Black,  or 

toose?    You  say 

Leicester  CUffe 

jellow  devil  witli 
ISweet  I" 
iud  grasped  the 

|e  you  said  ?" 

I  can  prove  it! 

Utranglo  if  H'**! 

let—he  killed  the 

with  luy  owu 


The  Colonel  stood  looking  a  hundred  ques- 
tions ho  could  not  epoali — atruok  for  the  mo- 
ment perfectly  speeclilvss. 

♦'  Yes ;  you  may  wonder,"  snid  Mr.  Black, 
■obsiding  into  his  chair  iiKain,  and  Istting  iiiin- 
self  cool  down  like  a  boltlo  of  ginger-beer  oiler 
the  tirst  explosion  ;  "  I'Ut  it'0  truoaagoi<[ii)I  I  I 
•aw  him  do  the  deed  myKclf  the  uigLt  of  the 
wedding ;  and  Mr.  Tom  Shirley — he  is  inno- 
cent 1" 

*•  Tell  me  nil,"  said  the  Colonel,  finding  voice ; 
"  and,  for  Heaven's  sake,  do  it  instantly  1" 

"I  am  a  going  to.  I  have  taken  all  this 
journey  in  the  wind  and  rain  to-night  to  do  it ; 
and  I'll  hunt  him  down  as  he  has  hunted  me,  if 
they  were  to  hang,  and  draw,  and  quarter  me 
the  next  minute  I  You  know  that  evening  I 
went  away  ;  and  I  don't  think  anybody  here 
ever  heard  of  me  since." 
"Go  on  I" 

"  I  had  been  out  that  day,  and  it  was  nigh  on 
to  sundown  when  I  came  home.     I  found  my 
old  mother  on  the  ground,  just  recovering  from 
•  fit,  and  just  able  to  tell  me  that  that  yellow 
villain  had  be<iu  with  her,  and  was  going  tell 
all — the  secret  he  had  kept  so  long.    That  was 
the  first  I  ever  knew  of  Barbara's  being  your 
daughter  instead  of  mine  ;  tliough  I  did  know 
he  had  some  power  over  the  old  woman  I  could 
not  get  at  the  bottom  of.    Whatever  he  may 
say,  he  knowed  it  all  along ;  and  it  was  that 
made  him  marry  her.     Front  the  time  he  met 
you  in  the  graveyard,  the  night  you  buried 
your  wife,  he  never  lost  sight  of  my  wife  »nd 
that  baby.    But  when  she  told  me  it  all,  and 
how  he  threatened  to  peach  about  my  being  a 
returned  transport,  I  believe  the  very  old  Sutan 
got  into  me,  and  I  started  up,  and  went  out  to 
find  him  and  kill  him.    They  say  a  worm  will 
turn  if  trodden  on  ;  he  bad  trodden  on  mo  long 
enough,  Lord  knows  !  and  it  was  my  turn  now. 
If  I  bad  met  him  in  the  middle  of  the  town, 
with  all  the  people  in  it  looking  on,  I  weuld 
have  torn  bis  throat  out  os  I  would  a  mad  dog's. 
I  would  have  done  it  if  they  was  to  burn  me 
alive  for  it  the  next  minute!    As  I  got  «p  near 
his  bouse,  I  saw  him  come  out,  and  I  hid  behind 
a  tree  to  watch  him     Before  be  got  far,  he 
stopped,  and  began  watching  somebody  him- 
seU ;    it  was  Mr.   Leicester  Clift'e,  wlio  came 
along  High  street  without  seeing  either  of  us, 
and  went  in.     Then  Sweet  dodged  round  the 
backway,  and  went  into  tlie  house  after  him, 
and  I  was  left  alone  waiting  behind  the  tree, 
and  waiting  for  my  game  to  come  out.     I  don't 
know  exactly  what  passed,  but  I  have  n  no- 
tion  that   Mr.    Leicester   wanted  Barbara   to 
mn  away  with  him,  and  that  the  yellow  vi- 
per was  listening,  «nd  heard  it  all.    It  was  nigh 
onto  dark  when  Mr.  Leicester  came  out,  and  set 
off  like  a  steam-engine  toward  Lower  ClifFe,  to 
take  A  short  cut,  I  expect,  to  the  castle ;  and  | 


Bir«efc  «ame  sneaking  after  him,  like  the  suake  |  don  ?" 


in  the  grass  he  is.  There  we  was,  a  dodgini^ 
after  each  other,  the  three  of  us,  and  Sweet  aud 
me  tryinff  to  keep  out  of  sight  fts  well  as  wo 
could,  and  getting  into  alley-ways  and  beliind 
trees  whenever  we  saw  anybody  cuiuing.  There 
wasn't  many  out  to  see  us  for  that  mutter ;  fur 
all  the  town,  and  the  village,  too,  was  up  in  lUe 
park}  and  Mr.  Leicester  went  up  through  liie 
park  gates,  aud  we  two  sneaked  after  bini  with- 
out meeting  a  soul.  Inutead  of  going  straiglit 
up  to  the  castle,  as  he'd  ought  to  do,  Mr.  Lei- 
cester turned  off  to  that  lonesome  spot  they 
call  the  Nun's  Grave ;  and  still  we  two  was 
dodging  in  through  the  trees  after  hitu.  When 
bo  got  there  he  stopped,  and  stood,  with  hid 
arms  crossed,  looking  down  at  it ;  and  there 
was  the  yellow  devil  ochind  him,  and  I  could 
see  his  face  in  the  moonlight,  and  he  looked 
more  like  a  devil  than  ever.  There  was  a  club 
lying  on  the  grass,  just  as  if  Old  Nick  hai  left 
it  there  for  '  favorite  son— a  big  knotted  stick, 
that  would  have  felled  an  ox ;  and  Sweet  he 
raised  it,  bis  grinning  mouth  grinning  more 
than  you  ever  saw  it,  and,  with  one  blow, 
knocked  the  young  gentleman  stiff  on  the 
ground  1" 

Mr.  Black  paused  in  his  long  narration  to 
turn  the  other  side  of  his  steaming  legs  to  the 
influence  of  the  blaze,  and  to  look  up  search- 
ingly  at  the  ColoneL  But  aa  that  gentleman 
stood  as  rigid  as  the  marble  guest  in  Don  Gio- 
vanni,  and  made  no  comment,  he  went  on  : 

*'  Tho  minute  be  did  the  doed,  as  if  be  knew 
his  wo  \  was  finished,  ho  dropped  the  club, 
made  a  .ush  through  the  trees,  and  I  lost  him. 
So  there  I  was  foiled  again,  with  tlio  young  geu^ 
tieman  lying  as  stiff  as  if  he  had  been  a  month 
dead  at  ray  feet.      I  shouldn't  at  all    have 
min>leil   being  hung  for    murdering   Sweet ;  I 
wouldn't  have  eared  a  curse  for  it ;  but  I  didn't 
want  to  hang  for  a  murder  I  hadn't  done  ;  so  I 
took  leg  I  ail,  and  got  away  irom  the  place  as 
be  had  done.     I  knew  Cliftonlca  would  bo  too 
hot  to  hold  me  now.     I  didn't  know  but  what 
that  lying  villain  would  make  me  out  to  be  tho 
murderer;  so  my  notion  was  to  be  off  in  the 
evening  train  for  London,  and  take  my  time  for 
revenge.     Just  as  I  got  through  the  park-gates, 
whom  should  I  see  but  Barbara  on  the  beach 
pushing  off  in  a  boat  from  the  shore.     I  sung 
out  to  hen,  but  it  was    no  use  ;    she  wouldn't 
stop  ;  BO  I  just  swam  up  to  her,  got  on  board, 
and  asked  her  where  she  was  g'ing.     I  don't 
know  what  she  said.     I  think  site  was  out  of 
her  mind ;  but  I  found  out  she  was  running 
away  from  him — from  Gliftonlea ;  and  then  it 
struck  me,  as  I  was  in  the  boat,  the  best  thing  I 
could  do  was  to  row  to  Lisleham,  take  the  cars 
for  London  there,  and  so  throw  folks  off  the 
scent.    And  that  is  the  way  it  happened  you 
couldn't  hear  anything  from  either  of  us." 
"  Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  you  went  to  Loo* 


116 


UNMAb 


OR. 


«(«<:• 


r 


"No  we  didn't  The  first  penon  we  met  on 
,]\e  wliarf  ot  Lialebniu  wae  au  old  obiiiii  of  mine, 
de  tm<l  bee»  wilb  nie  from  Hem  South  Wal«a 
}Ut  Uv.  was  well  otf  now,  and  the  onptain  of  a 
icboonor.  1  bud  nothing  ti>  do  but  to  tell  biin 
.ho  police  were  on  my  truck,  uiid  I  wus  sure  of 
tafo  quarters  on  board  )ii8  ct-al't  until  the  heat 
jf  the  hunt  was  over.  We  nailed  tliut  vi;ry  day 
for  Dover  ;  and  before  we  were  two  liours  out, 
Barbara  was  down  raving  mad  with  braiu-fevur. 
i'here  was  no  doctor  on  board,  and  she  hud  to 
,ret  out  of  it  the  best  way  she  oould  ;  but  we 
made  the  voyage,  stayed  awhile  iu  France,  and 
was  back  in  Lislehaia  long  before  she  slopped 
raving  or  knew  anybody.  1  got  some  English 
piipers  in  Dover,  and  there  I  saw  nil  about  the 
iiiunlcr  ;  how  I  saw  Mr.  Tom  was  took  up  for  it ; 
and  1  knew  I  hnd  held  my  tongue  about  long 
enough.  I  would  huve  come  posting  back  by 
express  ;  but  1  couldn't  leave  Barbara  alone  in 
the  schooner,  and  1  knew  I  was  liine  enough. 
We  got  in  two  hours  ngo.  The  schooner  ii*  at 
anciior  out  there  now  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
4torm,  I  came  on  shore.  And  now,  8ir,  that's 
the  whole  story.  Sweet  he's  the  munierer  ;  and 
rU  see  him  nung  for  it.  if  I  hung  myself  beside 

him." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  storm  ieemcd 
to  increase  in  fury,  and  the  uproar  without  hud 
become  terrilio.  The  Colonel  lifted  his  head 
und  listened  to  it. 

*•  Barbara,  you  say,  is  in  the  schooner?" 

"  She  is— but  more  like  a  ghost  or  a  skeleton, 
tliiiii  anything  living!" 

"  You're  sure  the  schooner  is  safely  anchored, 
an'l  not  exposed  to  the  fury  of  this  storm  ?" 

Mr.  Black  opened  his  mouth  to  reply  in  t|ie 
affirmative,  when  he  wus  ominously  stopped  by 
the  sharp  report  of  a  minute-gun  echoing 
tlirough  the  roar  of  the  hurricuue,  and  rapidly 
followed  by  another  and  another. 

"  I  thought  it  would  come  to  thnt,"  said  the 
Colonel.  '■  The  coast  iu  the  morning  will  bo 
birewn  with  wrecks!  I  am  going  down  to  the 
sliore." 

'•  All  right," said  Mr.  Black,  "we  can't  be  of 
any  use,  you  km>w  ;  but  1  have  got  cramped 
with  sitting  here,  and  want  to  stretch  my  legs 
a  bit.     Lord,  how  it's  storming !" 

The  Colonel  rapidly  donned  cap  and  overcoat, 
.iMil  followed  by  Mr.  Black,  left  his  bright  tii-e 
and  pleasant  room,  and  hastened  out  into  the 
night  and  storm.  The  sharp  report  of  the 
minute-guns  still  rang  through  the  uproar;  but 
though  they  were  met  in  the  door  by  a  rush  of 
wind  and  rain,  that  for  an  instant  beat  them 
back—  though  the  lightning  still  flashed,  and  the 
thunder  rolled,  the  storm  had  p-issed  its  merid- 
ian, and  was  subsiding.  Dawn  was  lifting  a 
leaden  eye,  too,  above  the  mountains  of  black 
eloud,  and  lighting  up  with  a  pale  and  ghastly 
glimmer  the  black  and  foam-crested  sea  and  the 
lt<>rm-beaten  eartl*.    Long  before  thej  reached 


the  shore  in  the  lashing  tempest,  the  mournful 
uiiiiul«-guns  bad  oea«ed  their  cry  for  help,  and 
the  vesitel,  whatever  it  was,  must  IneTitablv 
have  auuk  with  all  it«  crew.  DcHplte  the  winil, 
and  rain,  und  lightning,  the  shore  was  lined 
when  they  reached  it  by  the  fishermeu,  and 
thrown  up  high  on  the  shingly  beach  were 
bri'keu  spars,  fragments  of  wreck,  and  most 
ghastly  Biglit  of  all,  the  stark  bodies  of  drowned 
men.  A  crowd  hud  collected  in  one  spot  around 
a  muu  who,  had  turned  out,  was  the  only  sur- 
viv«ir,  and  who  was  telling  the  ctory  of  the  dis- 
aster, as  the  new-comers  came  up. 

"  We  were  scudding  along  like  old  Nick  in  • 
gale  of  wind,"  the  man  was  saying,  "  our  spars 
snapped  off  like  kpitting-neeifles,  when  we  run 
afoul  of  the  other  orafi,  smashed  her  like  an 
egg-shell,  and  down  she  went,  head  foremost, 
like  a  stone." 

A  shrill  screech  from  Mr.  Black,  and  off  he 
darted  like  one  posses'ed.  Something  hud  just 
been  washed  asliore,  something  hie  quick  eye 
had  caught,  and  over  which  he  was  bending 
now  with  a  face  as  ghastly  as  that  of  the  drowned 
men.  With  an  awful  presentiment,  the  Colonel 
followed  liim,  and  his  presentiment  was  realized 
to  its  utmost  extent  of  horror.  In  the  ooze  and 
mud  of  the  beach,  her  long  hair  streaming 
around  her,  her  soaking  dress  clinging  to  her 
slender  form,  lay  the  drowned  heiress  of  Castle 
Cliffe,  with  her  face  in  the  loathsome  slime. 

CHAPTER  XXXIL 

JRETUIBUTION. 

Vhomme  propose  mais  Dieu  dispose  I  You 
know  the  proverb.  Colonel  Shiri-iy  was  i  ot  the 
only  one  who  had  intended  starting  on  a  jour- 
ney that  morning,  and  was  doomed  to  diisan- 
pointment.  Mr.  Sylvester  Sweet  having  settled 
all  the  affairs  of  tlie  estate,  and  having  nothing 
to  do  for  the  next  mouth  or  two,  intended  in  hia 
bereavement  to  give  himself  a  long  holiday,  and 
to  go  post  haste  to  Puris.  Perhaps,  too,  being 
such  an  uncommonly  tender-hearted  gentleman, 
he  did  not  wish  to  stay  to  witness  the  exec".i*/nn 
of  hia  young  friend,  Tom  Sliirley — to  drown  liis 
grief  for  the  recent  loss  of  his  wife  in  the  de- 
lights of  that  delightful  city.  At  all  events, 
whatever  his  motives,  Mr.  Sweet  was  going  on  a 
journey,  and  was  sitting  down  to  an  early  break- 
tost  iu  the  back  parlor.  Most  elaborately  was 
he  got  up,  always  radiant,  he  was  considerably 
more  so  this  morning  than  ever  ;  bis  buff  waist- 
cout  had  the  gloss  of  spick-span  newness,  his 
breuet-pin  and  studs  were  dazzling,  the  opal 
rings  he  wore  on  his  fingers  made  you  wink,  his 
pocket-handkerchief  was  of  the  brightest  yellow 
China  silk,  his  Malacca  cane  had  a  gold  head, 
his  canary-colored  gloves  were  as  new  as  his 
waistcoat,  and  his  watch-chain  with  its  glistening 
ornaments,  his  yellow  whiskers  and  hair,  and 
white  teeth  gleamed  out  with  more  than  ordina- 
ry brilliance,  and  his  smile  was  so  bland  and 


THE  IlEmESfl  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFF^ 


117 


le  moarnful 
ur  htilp.  and 
t  iiittTiublv 
le  tUo  wiiiu, 

0  was  liued 
leimeu,  and 
beaolt  were 
:,  and  tuuttt 
}  of  drowned 

■}iot  around 
,be  unl>  Bur- 
y  of  Uie  dift- 

)ld  Nick  in  • 
,  "  our  Bpara 
when  wo  run 
her  lilie  an 
lad  foremost, 

c,  and  off  he 
ling  had  just 
is  quiok  eye 
wna  bunding 
■  the  drowned 
,  the  Colonel 
b  was  realized 

1  the  ooze  and 
lir  streaming 
nging  to  her 
ress  of  Castle 
me  slime. 


ispose  I  You 
•y  was  I  ot  the 
ig  on  a  jonr- 
ned  to  dUap- 

luving  settled 
nving  nothing 
ntcuded  in  bia 
g  holiday,  and 
ips,  too,  being 
ted  gentleman, 
J  the  exec'.iVon 
—to  drown  Ids 
rife  in  the  de- 
At  all  events, 
was  going  on  a 
an  early  break- 
jlaborately  was 
IB  considerably 

bis  butf  wuist- 
in  newness,  his 
iling,  the  opal 
e  you  wink,  his 
)righte8t  yellow 
d  a  gold  head, 

as  new  as  his 
th  its  glistening 

and  hair,  and 
(re  than  ordina* 
s  BO  bland  and 


debonair,  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good 
to  tt'.a  it.  Ho  liitd  a<»  fur  rccovoVod  from  liiV  Into 
berooveinont  tliat  ho  Imighod  a  liltli)  flilvory 
laugh  ns  ho  eiit  down  to  breakfast — wht'llier  ut  it, 
or  ot  his  own  clovcrncss,  or  ot  his  expected  two 
montliH'  holi<liiy,  would  bo  hard  to  nay.  So  he 
wo«  sittini,',  pleasantly  sipping  his  M.»cha,  ond 
eating  his  t'ggs  ond  rolls,  wiicn  the  door-bell 
rang  sharply  ;  and  two  minutes  oftor.  Colonel 
Shirley  stood  in  the  d<»or-woy,  regarding  him. 
Mr.  Sw«et  arose  in  a  little  surprise. 

"Oo'td  morning.  Colonel.  This  is  an  unex- 
pected pleasure.  I  thought  you  were  off  in  the 
BIX  o'clock  train?" 

'•  I  have  been  dclayod  I  "Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  order  your  uorse,  and  ride  bock  wit'» 
luo  to  Castle  ClifVo?" 

"Gortainly,  Colonel  I"  But  Mr.  Sweet  hesi- 
tated a  little,  with  his  hand  on  the  bell-rope. 
"  I  have  purchased  my  ticket  for  London,  but 
if  the  busuiess  is  pressing — ' 

•'  It  is  most  pressing!  Order  your  horse  im- 
mediately !" 

Mr.  Sweet  knew  better  than  to  disobey  the 
Indian  oiBcer  when  hit  dark  eye  flushca  and 
his  voice  rang  out  in  that  wringing  tunc  of  cuni- 
mond  ;  so  ho  ordered  his  horse,  drew  on  his 
ovcrcoot,  ond  substituted  buckskin  gloves  for 
the  yellow  liids,  with  a  little  disappointment 
and  a  great  deal  of  curiosity  in  his  sallow  face, 
liut  hia  unceremonious  companion  seemed  no 
way  inclined  to'  satisfy  curioxity,  ond  was  in  a 
mood  Mr.  Sweet  dared  not  que'stion.  So  they 
mounted  their  horses,  ond  drove  through  tho 
town  as  rapidly  os  they  had  ridden  once  before, 
when  on  the  search  for  Barbara.  The  storru 
hod  subsided,  the  rain  hod  entirely  ceased,  but 
the  wind  still  blew  in  long  lamentable  blasts  ; 
and  between  keeping  hia  seat  in  the  saddle  antJ  \ 
his  bat  on  his  head,  Mr.  Sweet  hod  enough  t  > 
do  until  Castle  Cliffo  was  gained.  And  still,  in 
grim  silence,  its  master  strode  into  the  hall  and 
into  tho  morning-room,  where  that  memorable 
inquest  had  been  held,  and  where  Mr.  Sweet 
again  found  Mr.  Channim,',  tho  magistrate,  and 
the  head  doctor  of  the  town.  Lying  on  a  long 
table,  at  tho  farther  end  of  tho  room,  was  some- 
thing that  looked  like  o  human  figure;  but  it 
was  so  muffled  from  sight,  in  a  great  cloak,  that 
he  could  scarcely  tell  what  to  moke  of  it.  lie 
turned  from  it  to  the  others,  and  their  stern 
faces  and  ominous  silence  sent  a  sudden  and 
strange  chill  to  hifj  heart.  Trying  to  look  easy 
and  composed,  be  pulled  out  bis  watch  and 
glanced  at  it. 

"  Ilolf-past  seven  I  If  the  business  is  brief, 
perhaps  1  may  be  in  time  to  catch  the  nine- 
o'clocK  train  yet." 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  the 
nine-o'clock  train.  You  will  not  catch  it !"  said 
the  Colonel,  frigidly. 

"  Excuse  me  !  Of  course,  I'm  willing  to  woit 
«ny  time  you  please  1     I  merely  thought  it 


might  have  been  some  unimportant  matter  w< 
had  forgotten  lost  night.  A  terrildo  night  ln«t 
nij/ht,  gentlemen— was  it  not  If" 

No  one  ipoke.  Mr.  Sweet  felt  n'*  If  I  heir 
three  pairs  of  eyes  were  three  pairs  of  burning- 
glasses  •oorohing  into  his  very  siiin.     At  last : 

"  Your  wife  has  returncil,  Mr.  Sweet!"  said 
tho  Colonel,  in  a  voice  that  thrilled  witli  tho 
same  nameless  terror  to  Mr.  Sweet's  inmtist 
heart. 

*•  Ueturned  I     When— whore— how  ?" 

"  Last  night,  In  the  storm!" 

*•  Good  heaven  I     Alone  ?"' 

••Qnite  alone  I" 

"  And  wlicro  is  she  now?" 

"She  is  here  I  Will  you  come  and  look  at 
hcrf 

lie  walked  toward  the  toblo  whorcon  the  muf- 
fled figure  lay.  Mr.  Sweet,  with  his  knees 
knocking  together,  followed.  Tho  muffling  was 
removed,  the  dead  face,  livid  and  bruised,  the 
dark  eyes  staring  wide  open,  tho  white  toctli 
gleaming  behind  tho  blue  li[)8,  os  if  she  were 
grinning  up  at  him  a  ghastly  grin.  It  wus  an 
ftwfid  sight;  and  Mr.  Sweet  recoiled  with  a  sort 
of  shriek,  ond  made  a  frantic  rush  for  tho  door. 
But  a  man  in  a  blue  coot  ond  brass  buttons,  the 
Captain  of  the  Cliftonlea  Police,  stood  sudilenly 
between  him  and  it,  and  laid  bis  hand  foreiKiy 
ou  his  shoulder. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Mr.  Sweet !  You  oro  my 
prisoner!" 

Thot  brought  Mr.  Sweet  to  his  senses  faster 
than  cold  water  or  smelling-salts,  llo  stood 
stock-still  and  loo  ved  at  the  man. 

"  What !" 

"Just  so,  Sir.  i'ou  are  my  prisoner!  I  ar- 
rest you  for  tho  murder  of  Leicester  Cliffo  I" 

The  sliock  wus  so  sudden,  so  unexi)cctcd  ;  his 
nerves  were  so  unstrung  by  tho  ojjpalling  sight 
he  had  just  seen,  that  his  self-control  left  him. 
His  sallow  face  turned  to  n  blue  white,  his  eyes 
seemed  storting,  he  stood  there  paralyzed,  glar- 
ing at  the  man.  Then,  with  a  yell  that  was 
more  Ii!;e  tho  cry  of  a  wild  boost  tlian  anything 
human,  ho  dashed  his  clenched  fist  into  the  con- 
stable's face,  tore  him  from  the  door,  rusliod 
out,  and  into  the  arms  of  Mr.  I'l  ter  Black,  who 
stood  oiring  his  eye  at  the  key-hw!o !  Tiierc 
was  another  screech,  wilder  than  tho  first — an 
appalling  volley  jf  oaths,  and  then  Mr.  BKick's 
hand  was  twisted  in  Mr.  Sweet's  canary-colored 
uecklie,  and  Mr.  Sweet  was  black  in  the  face, 
and  foaming  at  the  mouth.  Then  ho  was  down, 
and  Peter  Black's  knee  was  on  his  breast,  and 
tho  lawyer's  eyes  bursting  from  their  sockets, 
and  the  blood  flowing  from  his  moutii,  nose, 
and  oars,  but  the  others  crowded  round,  and 
were  tearing  the  avenger  off.  Not  in  time, 
however ;  for  n  murderous  clasp-knife,  with 
which  the  returned  transport  was  v/on',  ia  days 
gone  by,  to  slice  bis  bread  and  beef,  wns  out, 
and  up  tu  the  hilt  ia  the  lawyer's  breast.    The 


118 


UNMASKED;  OR, 


r 


hot  blood  spouted  upon  his  faoe  as  he  with- 
drew the  blade  ;  but  they  flung  him  off,  and  the 
constable  lifted  the  bleeding  form  from  the 
ground. 

•'I  hovo  done  it!"  said  Mr. Black,  whose  own 
face  was  purple,  and  whose  teeth  were  clench- 
ed. "  I  swore  I  would,  and  now  jou  may  hang 
me  as  soon  as  you  like !" 

Both  were  brought  baok  into  the  morning- 
room.  Mr.  Black,  like  n  perfect  lamb,  offering 
DO  resistance,  and  Mr.  Sweet,  altogetlier  unable 
to  do  so.  He  lay  a  ghastly  spectacle  in  the 
arms  of  the  constable,  catching  his  breath  in 
short  gasps,  and  tlie  life-blood  pumping  out  of 
th«  wound  with  each  one. 

"  Lay  him  down  on  this  sofa,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, *'  and  stand  out  of  the  way  until  I  examine 
the  wound." 

Mr.  Sweet  was  not  insensible.  As  they  laid 
him  down  and  the  doctor  bent  over  him,  he 
fixed  his  protruding  eyes  on  tiiat  functionary's 
face  with  an  intensely  eager  look.  The  exam- 
ination soon  en<led,  tbe  doctor  arose  and  shook 
his  licad  dismally. 

"  It's  of  no  use— the  wound  is  fatal  1  If  you 
have  anything  to  say,  Mr.  Sweet,  you  had  better 
say  it  at  once,  for  your  hours  are  numbered  !" 

Mr.  Sweet's  face,  by  no  earthly  possii<iIity, 
could  turn  more  gh.-istly  than  it  was ;  so  he  only 
let  his  head  fall  back  with  a  hollow  groan,  and 
lay  perfectly  motionless.  Mr.  Channiug,  with  a 
businoss-like  air,  drew  up  a  seat  and  sat  down 
beside  him. 

"You  have  heard  what  the  Doctor  says, 
Sweet  I  You  had  better  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it  before  you  go !" 

Another  hoilow  groan  was  Mr.  Sweet's  an- 
swer. All  bis  spirits  seemed  to  have  fleJ,  leav- 
ing nothing  behind  but  most  abject  terror. 

**  Out  with  it,  SwectI  it  may  ease  your  con- 
scieace !  We  will  send  for  a  clergyman,  if  you 
like !" 

'*  No,  it  would  be  of  no  use  I  he  could  do  me 
no  good  !  Ob-oh-oh  !"  Another  prolonged  and 
dismal  groan. 

'•  Commence,  then,  at  once — do  one  act  of 
justice  before  you  die  I  It  was  you  who  mur- 
^rcd  Leicester  Cliffe — was  it  not?"  said  Mr. 
Channiug,  briskly  producing  note-book  and 
pencil. 

"  It  was  1     It's  of  no  use  denying  it  now  I" 

'•  Why  did  you  do  it?  What  was  your  mo- 
tive?" 

*•  Jealousy!  I  beard  bim  urging  my  wife  to 
elope  witb  him.  I  was  mad  with  jealousy,  and 
I  followed  and  killed  bim  I" 

'♦  You  came  here  directly  after  the  murder  ?" 

"Ididl" 

"  Would  you  have  let  Tom  Shirley  hang  for 
your  crime  ?" 

"  How  could  I  help  it?  Either  he  or  I  must 
bang  for  it  I  Oh-oh'Oh-oh  I"  Another  pro- 
feuged  groan. 


"You've  been  o  niee  bypooritel"  said  Mr. 
Channing,  taking  notes  rapidly.  "Is  this  other 
story  about  your  wife  havmg  been  the  daughter 
of  Colonel  Shirley  quite  true  f " 

"  It  is — every  word  of  it  I" 

"  Not  every  word  I  You  knew  it  all  along, 
of  course?" 

"  Yes  I" 

"You  said  you  didn't,  though.  And  Miss 
Vivia  is  really  the  daughter  of  that  man  at  the 
door?" 

"Yes — curse  himt"  cried  Mr.  Sweet,  with 
momentary  fury ;  "  and  he  is  an  escaped  trans- 
port ;  and  you  know  what  the  penalty  of  that 

18?" 

"I  know  very  well!  Another  thing,  Mr. 
Sweet,  Black  mentioned,  while  the  Colonel  was 
absent  fetching  you,  that  before  you  struck 
Leicester  Cliffe,  a  mysterious  voice  arose  from 
the  grave  and  told  him  his  doom  was  come,  or 
sometliing  to  that  effect.  Can  you  account  for 
that  little  uircumstance  ?" 

"  Very  easily  t  I  am  a  ventriloquist !  And 
I  have  made  use  of  my  powi^r  more  than  once 
to  terrify  Barbara  and  him,  at  the  Nun's  Grave  1" 

"Humph I  They  say  open  confessions  are 
good  foivtbe  soul,  and  yours  ought  to  feel  re- 
lieved after  this  I  Is  there  anything  else.  Col- 
onel?' 

"I  think  not.'  What  miserable  dupes  we 
have  all  been  1" 

•|AhI  you  may  say  that!  It's  a  thousand 
pities  so  clever  a  rascal  should  have  cheated 
the  hangman  1" 

"  He  hasn't  cheated  him !"  said  the  doctor, 
composedly ;  "  lie  is  no  more  likely  to  die  than 
I  am  I  The  stab  is  a  mere  trifle,  that  some 
lint  ond  linen  bandages  will  set  all  right  in  no 
time.  Colonel,  ring  tbe  bell,  and  order  both 
articles,  while  I  stop  the  blood  which  is  flowing 
rather  fast  I" 

"  You  said— you  said—"  gasped  Mr.  Sweet, 
with  horrible  eagerness.  "  You  said  the  wound 
was  fatal  1"         , 

"  So  I  did,  my  dear  Sir  1  so  I  did  !  but  I  just 
wanted  to  frighten  you  a  little,  nnd  so  get  uU 
the  truth.  All  is  lair  in  war,  you  know,  and 
white  lies  are  excusable  in  such  cases  I  Here's 
the  lint— now  tbe  bandages — tbank  you,  Col- 
onel T'  Don't  twitch  so— I  wouldn't  hurt  yoi 
for  the  world  1  Please  the  pigs,  we'll  have  you 
all  ready  to  stand  your  trial  in  a  weelc  I" 

Every  one  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  not 
even  excepting  Mr.  Black,  wbo  felt,  upon  ufter- 
tbougbt,  a  little  sorry  he  had  ended  Mr.  Sweet's 
sufferings  so  soon.  But  whether  from  the  re- 
action or  the  loss  of  blood,  Mr.  Sweet  himself 
had  no  sooner  beard  the  conclusion  of  the  doc- 
tor's speecu,  tlian  he  fell  baok  on  the  sofa,  faint- 
ing. 

"Can  he  be  removed.  Doctor?"  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"  Of  coune  he  oaa  I    Put  him  in  the  earrias« 


rope 

teen 

banc 

Nigl 

is  a 

The 

their 

by  I 

tiiti 

ley. 

whon 

hum 

Lone 

soldi 

But 

terno 

an  a\ 

I)  bel 

tress, 

on  h 

throi 

mits 


te !"  said  Mr. 
<*  la  this  other 
Q  the  dangbter 


w  it  all  along. 


h.  And  Misa 
at  man  at  the 

r.  Sweet,  with 
escaped  Irans- 
)enalty  of  that 

cr  thing,  Mr. 
he  Colonel  waa 
re  jou  struck 
ice  arose  from 
,  was  come,  or 
ou  account  for 

iloquist  I  And 
Qore  than  once 

Nuns  Grave  I" 
confessions  are 

ght  to  feel  re- 
ihing  else,  Col» 

able  dupes  we 

It's  a  thousand 
Id  have  cheated 

aid  the  doetor, 
kely  to  die  than 
rifle,  that  some 
all  riglit  in  no 
and  order  both 
which  is  flowing 

iped  Mr.  Sweet, 
1  said  the  wound 

did  !  but  I  just 
!,  nnd  so  get  uU 

yoa  know,  and 
1  cases !  Here's 
thank  you,  Col> 
uldn't  hurt  yoi 
},  we'll  have  you 
a  week !" 
ith  of  relief,  not 

felt,  upon  ttfter- 
ided  Mr.  Sweet's 
ler  from  the  re- 
\  Sweet  himself 
ision  of  the  doc- 
>n  the  sofa,  faint- 
tor?"  asked  the 
m  in  i,he  earria([« 


THE  HEIBESS  OF  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


119 


ihd  drive  slowly,  and  he  can  go  to  the  jail  as 
snfely  as  any  of  us  !  I  shall  make  a  point  of 
conscience  of  visiting  him  there  every  day.  I 
never  knew  a  gentleman  I  shall  have  more 
pleasure  in  restoring  to  health  than  my  dear 
friend,  Mr,  Sweet !" 

"  Of  course,  Tom  is  free  to  leave  immediate- 
ly, Mr.  Clianning  ?" 

'  *'  Of  course,  Colono' !  of  course  !  Poor  boy ! 
Iiow  shamefully  he  has  been  wronged !  and  what 
a  providential  thing  the  wrong  did  not  go  still 
furtlier !" 

♦'  It's  nllrightnowl"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  the 
wheel  turns  slowly,  but  it  turns  surely  !  Blood 
will  cry  for  vengeance,  and  murder  will  out !" 

A  carriage  was  ordered  round,  and  the  blinds 
closely  drawn  down.  Mr.  Sweet,  still  insensible, 
was  placed  on  the  back-seat  in  charge  of  the 
doctor  and  Mr.  Channing,  and  Mr.  Black  and 
the  constable  were  accommodated  with  the  op- 
posite one.  The  Colonel  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  on  in  advance,  to  bring  glad  tidings  of 
great  joy  to  Tom  Shirley  in  his  prison-cell. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  CnRTAIN. 

The  sun  shines  on  the  just  and  the  unjust — 
yes,  for  it  shone  one  sqnny  afternoon  on  the 
glistening  spires,  and  donaes,  and  palaces,  and 
tlironged  paves  of  a  great  city,  and  on  a  large, 
quiet-looking,  gray  building,  enshrined  in  tall 
trees,  away  from  the  ceaseless  bum  of  busy  life 
in  a  remote  street ;  and  the  great  city  was  gay, 
brilliant,  wicked  Paris,  and  the  quiet,  gray 
building  among  the  trees,  was  the  Ursuline  Con- 
vent. It  is  fourteen  montlis  since  we  were  in 
Cliftonlea,  fourteen  months  since  Colonel  Shir- 
ley and  Tom  left  for  the  frozen  and  blood- 
stained shores  of  Russia ;  fourteen  months  since 
Cliftonlea  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  unparal- 
leled excitement  upon  seeing  Mr.  Sweet  with  a 
rope  round  his  neck,  dancing  on  nothing  ;  four- 
teen montlis  since  Margaret  Shirley  joined  the 
band  of  devoted  women  who  followed  Florence 
Nightingale  to  the  Crimea.  Fourteen  months 
is  a  tolerable  time,  with  room  for  many  changes. 
The  war  was  over,  the  allies  had  gone  back  to 
their  own  countries.  Colonel  Sliirley  had  won, 
by  hard  fighting,  a  baronetage,  and  the  Cross  of 
tlie  Biitii,  and  was  now  General  Sir  ClifFe  Shir- 
ley. Margaret  had  joined  the  Sisters  of  Charity, 
whom  she  met  in  the  hospitals,  and  was  now  the 
humble  servant  of  the  very  humblest  class  in 
London  ;  and  poor  Tom  Shirley  was  lying  in  a 
soldier's  grave  outside  the  walls  of  Seoastopol. 
But  all  thii)  was  passed,  and  on  this  summer  af- 
ternoon, you  are  going  through  an  iron  gate,  up 
an  avenue  of  golden  laburnums,  and  are  ringing 
a  bell  at  the  great  convent  door.  An  old  por- 
tress, sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  with  her  missal 
on  her  lap,  the  beads  of  her  rosary  slipping 
through  her  fingers,  and  dozing  over  both,  ad- 
mits you,  and  you  pass  through  a  long  hall  into 


the  convent  church.  The  sunshine  Citing 
through  the  maguidcent  stained-glass  windows, 
fills  it  with  a  solemn  gloom  ;  an  immense  gcdden 
lamp,  suspended  from  the  carved  ceiling  by  a 
long  chain,  burns  before  the  grand  altar.  Su- 
perb pictures  line  the  walls,  lovely  statues 
look  down  from  niches  and  brackets,  and  tho 
holy-water  fount  at  the  door  is  a  perfect  miracle 
of  exquisite  carving.  The  solemn  air  is  filled 
with  music ;  for  a  young  nun,  lovely  of  face, 
slender  of  figure,  sits  up  in  the  organ-lcft,  play- 
ing and  singing  the  "  Stabat  Mater".  It  is  Sis- 
ter Ignacia,  once  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Hilary— 
Vivia  Shirley's  old  friend,  wbo  might  have  been 
Yivia  Shirley's  sister,  and  she  looks  like  the  pic- 
tures of  St.  Cecilia,  as  the  grand  notes  of  the 
organ  wail  sadly  out  and  she  sings  the  mourn- 
ful words : 

"  Stabat  Mater  dolorosa, 
Juxtera  crucem  lachrymosa, 
Dum  pendabat  filiua." 

One  other  figure  only  is  in  the  church,  and  it 
kneels  on  a  prie-dieu  before  a  magnificent  pic- 
ture, a  copy  of  Paul  Ruben's  Descent  from  the 
Cross.  There  Mary  Magdalen  kneels  with  her 
floating  golden  hair  falling  around  her  like  a 
vail,  her  lovely  face  uplifted ;  there  stands  the 
Mater  Dolorosa,  her  colorless  face  and  upraised 
eyes  full  of  her  great  woe  ;  there  stands  John, 
the  beloved  apostle,  with  his  beautiful  boyish 
fflce,  and  there  hangs  the  drooping  livid  figure 
they  are  slowly  liftinc;  to  the  ground.  It  is  not 
a  nun  who  kneels  before  this  picture,  not  even^a 
novice ;  for  she  wears  no  vail,  either  white  or 
black  ;  her  golden  hair,  like  Magdalen's  own,  is 
pushed  from  her  face  and  confined  in  a  silken 
net ;  her  dress  is  unrelieved  black,  but  she  wears 
neither  cross  nor  rosary  at  her  girdle.  You 
cannot  see  her  face,  it  is  hidden  in  her  hands  as 
she  kneels  ;  but  you  can  tell  she  is  youne,  by 
the  exquisite  beauty  of  those  hands,  and  the 
slender,  delicate  figure.  Whiie  she  kneels  and 
prays,  and  the  young  nun  sings  the  "Stabat 
Mater",  the  door  softly  opens.  Sister  Anastasia, 
the  old  portress,  glides  in  and  taps  her  softly 
on  the  shoulder,  and  the  kneeler  rises  and  fol- 
lows her  out  of  the  vestibrle.  You  can  see  now 
that  the  face  is  youthful  and  lovely,  made  more 
lovely  by  the  moveless  purity  and  calm  that 
looks  at  you  through  the  dark  violet  eyes  than 
by  any  perfection  of  feature  or  of  complexion  ; 
for  the  face  is  thin,  wan,  and  wnsted  to  a  degree. 
Sister  Anasttjisia  takes  a  card  out  of  her  pocket, 
and  hands  it  to  the  young  lady,  who  becomes 
livid  crimson  the  moment  she  looks  at  it,  and 
who  covers  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  turns 
away  even  from  the  averted  eyes  of  the  por- 
teress.  "  He  is  in  the  parlor,"  Sister  Anastasia 
says  with  phlegm,  and  goes  back  to  her  missal, 
and  her  rosary,  and  her  dozing. 

The  young  girl  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
same  attitude,  her  bowed  face  hidden  in  her 
bands;  and  then  starting  suddenly  up,  hastened 


120 


UNMASKED;  OE, 


fit.ilT 


ir) 


along  a  corridor,  up  a  flight  of  atairs,  aud  tap- 
ped at  a  door  on  the  lauding  above.  "  Enter,' 
aaid  a  sweet  voice  ;  and  obeying  the  order  the 
young  lady  went  in  and  knelt  down  at  the  feet 
of  the  stately  Lady  Abbess,  who  sat  with  a  pile 
of  letters  before  her  reading. 

"  Well,  dear  child,"  said  the  lady,  laying  her 
hand  kindly  on  the  bowed  head  ;  "  What  is  it  ?" 

For  all  answer  the  youug  lady  placed  in  her 
hand  the  card  she  had  juat  received,  aud  bowed 
her  face  lower  than  ever,  Tlie  nun  looked  at  it 
gravely  at  first ;  and  then,  with  <i  little  smile  : 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  is  very  well ;  you  have 
my  permission  to  receive  your  visitor." 

"  But  nob  alone,  mother !  dear  mother,  not 
alone !" 

The  lady  still  sat  and  looked  at  her  with  the 
same  quiet  smile. 

"  Will  you  not  come  with  me,  mother  ?  I — I 
— should  like  it  so  much !" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  you  wish  it.'' 

Both  arose,  descended  the  stairs,  passed 
through  the  vestibule,  and  opening  a  door  to 
the  left,  entered  the  very  plainest  of  convent 
parlors.  The  only  occupant  was  a  gentleman, 
stalwart  and  tall,  in  undress  military  uniform, 
bronzed  and  moustached,  and  looking  wonder 
fully  out  of  place  within  those  monastic  walls. 
He  rose  as  they  entered,  bowed  low  to  the  state- 
ly superior;  and,  crossing  the  room,  eagerly 
held  out  his  hand  to  the  younger  lady,  who 
dropped  her  eyes,  aud  colored  again  as  she 
■touched  it. 

^     •'  I  am  very  glad  you  have  returned  safe  from 
your  dangerous  mission.  Sir  Cliffe,"  said  the  su- 

t)erior,  sitting  down.     "Allow  me  to  congratu 
ate  you  on  the  success  you  have  achieved." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Madam !"  said  tbe  sol- 
dier, looking  a  little  reproaclifully,  as  he  spoke, 
at  the  young  lady,  who  persistently  refused  to 
meet  his  eye.  "  Can  I  not  say  two  or  three 
words  in  private  to  Miss  Shirley  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  Sir ;  it  w.is  by  her  own  re- 
quest I  came  !  Vivia,  take  a  seat  over  t'lere by 
the  window,  and  hear  what  your  frienc  has  to 
say." 

Vivia  and  the  gentleman  seated  themselves 
near  the  window  as  directed  ;  and  the  superior, 
taking  out  a  rosary,  began  saying  her  Ave  Marias, 
witli  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  a  hundred  miles  awa}'  . 

"  You  have  just  come  from  England,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Yiviii,  at  last  breaking  u  somewhiit 
embarrassing  pause. 

"  I  reached  Paris  an  hour  ago.  And  how 
have  you  been,  Vivia?  Are  you  always  goini; 
to  be  pale  and  wan,  and  never  get  your  roses 
back  !     1  believe  they  half  starve  you  here." 

Vivia  looked  up  with  something  like  her  old 
laugh. 

"  Sist«r  Th^rese,  our  cook,  could  tell  a  diff'er- 
ent  story  I  She  would  cook  me  pate  de  fois  gras 
every  day  if  I  w  ->uld  eat  them.     And  how  are 


all  in   Cliftonlea — dear,   dear,   old  Cliftonlea? 
How  often  I  have  dreamed  of  it  since  I  left !" 

"  You  sliali  see  it  again  before  the  end  of  the 
week.  All  are  well,  but  terribly  lonely  without 
Vivia  I  1  believe  I  have  a  couple  of  billets-doux 
for  you  somewhere." 

"Hardly  billets-doux  I  think,"  smiled  Vivia, 
as  he  drew  out  his  pocket-book,  and  took  from 
between  the  leaves  two  dainty  little  missives, 
one  three- cornered,  rose-colored,  and  perfumed  ; 
tbe  otber  in  a  plain  white  envelope.  Vivia 
smiled  again  as  sbe  looked  at  the  first. 

"  Lady  Agnes  will  always  bo  elegant ;  I  could 
tell  this  was  hers  in  Tartary  !"  she  said,  as  she 
broke  '*  open  and  glanced  over  its  brief  con- 
tents.   Very  brief  they  were : 

"  My  Darling  :— Come  back  1  have  been  dying  of 
ennui  ever  since  you  left.  Nothing  in  the  world  could 
have  made  me  so  happy  as  to  know  you  are  to  be  my 
daughter  after  all.  A.  S. 

Vivia  glanced  shyly  up  ,  and  seeing  the  grave 
smiling  eyes  bent  upon  her,  blushed,  and  open- 
ed the  other  without  a  word  : 

"  Mt  De AR  ConsiN :  —Try  and  forgive  me  for  the  past — 
I  never  can  forgive  myself,  Sometimes,  in  your  pray- 
ers, remember  Maroarkt  Suirlet." 

"  Your  letters  are  somewhat  shorter  than 
those  ladies  usually  write,"  her  companion  said, 
with  his  grave  smile  ,  but  Vivia's  eyes  were  full 
of  tears. 

"  Poor  Margaret  1  dear  Margaret !  I  hope 
she  is  happy  in  her  convent  1  When  did  you 
see  her  ?" 

"Yesterday.  And  if  one  might  judge  by 
faces,  she  is  as  happy  as  it  is  in  her  nature  to 
be.  Poor  Tom's  death  was  a  terrible  shock  to 
her  ;  she  saw  him  when  he  was  brought  iu  rid- 
dled with  Russian  bullets !" 

"  Did  she  ?" 

She  was  sitting  with  averted  face,  her  eyes 
shaded  by  her  hands,  and  Sir  Cliffe  went  on  : 

"You  heard,  of  course,  he  was  dead,  but  you 
never  heard  the  partioulars.  Poor  fellow  !  shall 
I  ever  forget,  that  half  an  hour  before  he  was 
talking  to  me,  sound  and  well,  in  my  tent?  But 
these  things  are  merely  the  fortunes  of  war." 

"Go  on  !"  Vivia  said,  softly. 

"  We  were  expecting  an  engagement,  and  my 
post  was  one  of  imminent  danger  ;  and  not 
knowing  what  the  result  might  be,  1  was  mak- 
ing a  few  arrangements  in  case  th»  worst  should 
happen.  It  was  then  for  the  first  time  I  told 
him  how  I  had  called  here  when  en  route  for  the 
scat  of  war,  the  question  I  asked  you,  and  the 
answer  my  good  little  Vivia  gave.  As  he  heard 
it,  he  laid  his  head  down  on  the  table  as  be  did 
once  before,  I  remember,  when  I  gave  him  your 
note  in  person  ;  and  those  were  the  last  words 
we  ever  exchanged.  The  encagoment  began,  a 
forlorn  hope  was  storming  a  breach  in  the  wall, 
and  had  been  hurled  back  again  and  again  by  a 
rain  of  bullets,  until  they  were  half  cut  to 
pieces,  and  no  one  could  bo  found  to  lead  them 
again.     Then  it  was  that  Tom  sprung  from  the 


THE  HEIRESS  OP  CASTLE  CLIFFE. 


131 


1  Cliflonlea? 
,ce  I  lefk !" 
le  end  of  the 
)nely  without 
f  billetB-doux 

smiled  Vivia, 
nd  took  from 
ttle  missives, 
id  perfumed  ; 
lope.  Vivia 
first. 

jant ;  I  could 
16  said,  as  she 
its  brief  con- 

e  been  dying  of 
tlie  world  could 
lu  are  to  be  my 

A.  S. 

eing  the  grave 
led,  and  open- 

me  for  the  past — 
I,  in  your  pray- 
lRkt  Suiblkt." 

shorter  than 
tmpanion  said, 
I  eyes  were  full 

aret!  I  hope 
When  did  you 

ght  judge  by 
I  her  nature  to 
rrible  shock  to 
brought  in  rid- 


face,  her  eyes 
.ffe  went  on  : 

dead,  but  you 
or  fellow !  shall 

before  he  was 
my  tent?  But 
nes  of  war." 

;eraent,  and  my 
iiger  ;  and  not 
be,  1  was  muk- 
h"  worst  should 
iTit  time  I  told 

en  route  for  the 

id  you,  and  the 

J.     As  he  heard 

[  table  as  he  did 

gave  him  your 

the  last  words 
;tment  began,  a 
tach  in  the  wall, 

and  again  by  a 
ere  half  cut  to 
nd  to  lead  them 
sprung  from  the 


ranks  with  a  cheer,  and  a  wild  ory  of  "  Come 
ou,  lade !"  that  rings  ia  my  ears  even  now.  In 
one  instant  be  scaled  the  wall,  in  another  be 
had  fallen  back  pierced  with  a  score  of  Russian 
balls,  but  the  last  trial  succeeded,  and  the 
breach  was  won !'' 

Vivia  did  not  speak,  but  he  could  see  how 
fast  the  tears  were  falling  through  the  hands  that 
covered  her  face. 

"  When  they  came  to  bury  him,"  concluded 
the  Colonel,  hastily  ;  "  they  found  in  his  breast, 
all  torn  and  shattered,  a  little  book  you  had 
once  given  him,  and  within  it  the  note  you  sent 
in  prison.  Poor  Tom!  they  buried  him  with 
military  honors,  but  the  shook  of  seeing  him 
nearly  killed  Margaret." 

Still  Vivia  could  do  nothing  but  weep,  Her 
companion  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  toll  you  this  story — 
such  horrors  are  not  for  your  ears." 

*'  O  yes,  yes  ;  it  is  better  I  should  know  it ! 
Poor  Tom  !  poor  Margaret!" 

"  l)o  not  think  of  it  any  longer  I  I  have  a 
thousand  things  to  say  to  you,  and  no  time  to 
say  one  of  them.  Do  you  know  I  return  to 
England  to-morrow?" 

"So  soon!" 

"  Yes.     And  I'm  going  to  take  you  with  me." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Vivia,  with  a  little  cry  of 
consternation.  '*It  is  impossible!  I  never 
could!" 

"  There  is  no  such  word  as  impossible  in  my 
vocabulary!  You  must!  There  is  no  occasion 
for  delay,  and  they  expect  ns  at  home." 

"But  it  is  so  very  sudden.  I  never  can  be 
ready  !" 

"Permit  me  to  judge  of  that!  What  readi- 
ness do  you  require  ?" 

"Oh,  I  have  nothing  to  wear!"  said  Vivia, 
with  a  Jaugh  and  a  blush. 

"  You  can  wear  what  you  have  on — can  you 
not?" 

"  Black !  Nonsense — what  are  you  thinking 
of?     No  one  ever  heard  of  sucli  a  tiling!' 

"Very  well!  Since  you  are  inexorable,  I 
shall  appeal  to  higher  powers,  and  see  if  they 
cannot  coerce  you  into  obedience.' 

He  crossed  vthe  room  as  he  spoke,  and  took  a 
seat  near  the  superior,  who  lifted  her  eyes  in- 
quiringly from  the  carpet-pattern. 

"  Madame,  business  obliges  mc  to  return  to 
Enghmd  to-morrow !  Is  ihere  any  valid  reason 
why  Vivia  should  not  return  with  me  ?" 

"  It  is  very  soon,"  said  the  lad}',  musingly. 

"  True,  but  I  assure  you  the  haste  is  uniivoid- 
able,  and  as  the  ceremony  is  to  be  strictly  pri- 
vate, a  day  more  or  less  can  not  make  much 
difference. 

"I  suppose  not.  vveii.  Monsieur,  it  shall  be 
as  you  wish  !  Her  friend,  Madame  la  Marquise 
de  St.  Hilary,  and  her  bonne  Jeannette,  can  ac- 
company, her.  in  the   cnn-n;,'!'.  and   meet  you  at 


the  churca.    I  cannot  tell  you,  Monsieur,  how 
sorry  we  all  will  be  to  part  with  her." 

So  that  matter  was  settled,  and  Monsieur  le 
G^n^ral  took  his  departure  with  a  beaming  face 
to  prepare  for  the  ceremony  of  lo-morrow,  and 
Mdlle.  Vivia  went  lo  prepare  for  it  in  her  own 
way,  by  spending  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
and  long  into  the  night,  on  the  prie-dieu  before 
the  altar.  She  was  back  there  again  by  day- 
dawn  the  next  morning ;  but  when  the  grand 
carriage  of  the  St.  Hilarys  stopped  at  tlie  con- 
ventdoor,  she  was  ready  in  the  simplest  and 
plainest  of  traveling-dresses  to  take  her  seat 
beside  the  Marquise.  Adieu  had  been  said  to 
all  her  convent  friends,  and  she  sat  quietly  cry- 
ing behind  her  vail,  until  they  drt-w  up  before 
Notre  Dame,  where  they  found  General  Shirley 
and  a  few  of  his  friends,  awaiting  them.  And 
then  a  very  quiet  marriage-ceremony  was  per- 
formed, and  Vivia  had  a  right  to  the  name  of 
Shirley  no  one  could  dispute  now,  and  was  sit- 
ting the  happiest  bride  on  earth,  beside  her  sol- 
dier-husband, in  the  express-train  for  Calais. 

Once  more  the  joy  bells  were  ringing  in  Clif- 
tonlea ,  once  more  the  charity-children  turned 
out  to  stiviw  the  streets  with  flowe>s ,  once  more 
triumphal  arches  were  raised,  and  tiie  flag  of 
welcome  floated  from  the  cupola  of  Castle 
CliflFe ;  once  more  bonfires  were  kindled,  fire- 
works went  off,  and  music  and  dancing,  drink- 
ing and  feasting,  were  to  be  had  for  the  asking, 
and  crowds  upon  crowds  of  well-dressed  peojile 
filled  the  park.  Castle  Cliffe,  from  eeilnr  to 
battlement,  was  one  blaze  of  light ,  once  more 
the  German  band  came  down  from  London  to 
delight  the  ears  of  hundreds  of  guests  ,  once 
more  Lady  Agnes  was  blazing  resplendent  in 
velvet  ana  diamonds,  and  once  ni"re  Sir  Ro- 
land, on  his  gold-headed  cane,  limped  from 
room  to  room,  in  spite  of  his  gout,  in  perfect 
ecstasies  at  seeing  his  pet  Vivia  again — it  was 
so  delightfully  like  the  old  times.  And  Vivia 
was  there  again,  robed  as  a  bride,  in  white  lace 
and  satin,  and  orange-bloss'ims  and  jewels,  love- 
ly as  a  vision ;  and  this  time  the  bridegroom 
was  not  absent.  He  stood  there  in  his  grand 
General's  uniform  ;  and  no  shallow  from  tlie 
pust  was  permitted  to  dim  the  brightness  of 
that  night.  Not  eVen  Lady  Agnes  could  think 
of  her  obscure  birth  ;  for  no  princess  could  look 
more  noble  and  stately  than  did  she:  no  one 
thought  of  that  father  of  hers  who  had  broken 
so  ai-tfuUy  from  jail,  and  made  his  escape  to 
parts  unknown — helped,  rumor  said,  by  Colonel 
Shirley  himself.  No  one  thought  of  anything 
but  that  tiie  bride  and  bridegroom  were  the 
handsomest  and  huppiest  couple  in  the  world. 

"Come  out  here,  Vivia!"  he  said  to  her, 
opening  a  glass-door  leading  down  to  the  ter- 
race ;  "it  is  a  lovely  night,  and  this  ball-ri'om 
is  oppressively  hot." 

lie  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  ^\r  Cliffe 
and  Lady  Shirley  walked  along  the  trrace  in 


122 


UNMASKED. 


tiie  H«reiie  moonlight.  Tlie  park,  looking  like 
liiiry-laud,  lay  at  tbeir  feet,  filled  witb  their 
tenantry,  and  the  townsfolk,  and  music,  and 
linppy  voices;  the  town  lny  quiet  and  tranquil, 
1  )uking  pretty  aud  picturesque,  as  all  places  do 
ill  the  moonlight ;  and  far  away,  spread  out  the 
wide  sea,  its  ceaseless  waves  surgmg  the  same 
iM  song  to  the  shore  they  had  sung  when  she 
heard  them  first,  a  happy,  carelcs'?  child. 

'•  Dear,  dear  Cliftonleal"  said  Viva,  her  eyes 
filling  with  happy  tears ;  "  How  glad  I  am  to 
see  it  again  I" 


"  I  thought  you  would  not  forget  it  in  your 
French  convent!'*  he  oiid,  laughing.  "My 
dear  little  wife,  there  is  no  place  like  home  t" 

"  True,  but  I  have  learned  one  thing  in  my 
French  convent,  that  favor  is  deceitful,  and 
beauty  is  vain,  and  that  after  all,  num  ante !" 
pointing  upward,  "  there  is  the  true  patrie  /" 

He  did  not  speak.  He  only  lifted  the  lovely 
hand  reverently  to  his  lips  ;  and  in  silence  the 
bronzed  soldier  and  his  pretty  bride  stood  on 
the  terrace  watching  the  joung  moon  rise. 


Item  bsd.i 


forget  it  ia  your 
lauching.     "  My 
oe  like  home  I" 
one  thing  in  my 
is  deceitful,  and 

all,  mon  ame  /" 
e  true  patrie  /" 

lifted  the  lovely 
iad  in  silence  the 
y  bride  stood  on 
g  moon  rise. 


